


Thunder Road

by MadCatta



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Biphobia, Depression, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Explicit Sexual Content, Homophobia, Mechanic Dean, Multi, Soldier Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-01-21 00:02:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 75,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1530608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadCatta/pseuds/MadCatta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tired. Dean's so tired. He's looked after his dad and little brother his whole life and that's all he is - and they don't need him any more. Lost and drifting, he meets a man with blue eyes, who he totally doesn't have a crush on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I will aim to update this every Sunday! I'm on [ tumblr ](http://goldeans.tumblr.com)
> 
> Word of warning, this fic features some bulimic traits and involves depression, alcoholism, ex-junkie!Sam and sexuality crises. 
> 
> Beta'd by this gorgeous babe [ here](http://sideofthedemons.tumblr.com) and other than that, I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> And emetophobics beware in this chapter

The first thing that matters to Dean is Mom. Mommy. She’s blonde and beautiful, she brings light to the world - she is Dean’s light in the world. Mommy and Daddy, and they don’t always get along but he knows they love him to pieces. He picks flowers with Mommy and runs round and round the garden with her, does his best to help her cook and tells her he loves her so much he might explode. With Daddy, he plays Scalextric and gets tossed high in the air and sits on his dependable shoulders. His nights are bedtime stories and a million kisses over his face and the open invitation to come into their bed if the night gets too scary.

And then Dean gets a little brother. It’s not a great surprise, ‘cause Mom’s belly grows big and tough and she lets him listen to it (he pretends to have conversations with his little sibling because it makes Mommy laugh). But the baby is red and squidgy and squirmy, and Dean thinks maybe he’d prefer a puppy.

Mommy puts the baby in his arms and lets Dean lean against her, and the baby is warm and looks at Dean. Mommy helps him support the baby so Dean can work a hand free, and the baby takes his finger and holds on tight. Dean never wants him to let go.

And Sammy doesn’t. When he’s trying to sit up on his squishy diaper he holds onto whatever he can find - Mommy, Daddy, the table leg, but he prefers Dean, ‘cause Dean holds on just as tight. Holds on that tight when there’s a fire, and Dean’s holding Sammy like he’s not meant to without Mommy or Daddy, but Daddy told him to take Sammy and go, so he is. Running down the stairs like he’s not ‘sposed to too, and out onto the lawn, where he stops and stares at the at the great big fire. Dean fights Daddy, when Daddy tries to pry Sammy out of his arms.

Mommy’s gone and so has Dean’s world, even Daddy’s gone. Daddy’s Dad, and they need more than Dad. Sammy needs more than Dad, so Dean does his best to step up to the plate. As soon as he’s old enough, Dean’s mowing lawns and painting fences, putting notes in Sammy’s lunch bag and throwing a blanket over Dad when he’s passed out on the couch. Dean cooks, Dean looks after Dad and pesters Sammy to help out; Dean’s the mediator between his fragile family and the world, when they need it.

And then the second thing Dean cares about, because with Mommy came family, even when Mommy wasn’t there, is food. It’s his focus. Some douchebag picks on him at school, Dean thinks what he can cook for dinner. Dad yells at him, Dean plans out what he’s gonna buy from the supermarket. When times are tough, food replaces Mom’s warm cuddles, and a candy is all the sweetness he needs.

Alastair frees him in ways food can’t. Alastair’s older, has cold gray eyes and an unnerving smile. Dean’s never worked out what made him so attractive, but Alastair works it, whatever the reasons. Besides, what the hell does Alastair - who practically rules the school - see in Dean, for fuck’s sake? Dean’s gawky and a bit chubby, from all the cheap comforting food he eats, but Alastair thinks he’s funny “for a cocksucker.”

Alastair takes him to the boys’ room and sucks him off. Dean’s first blowjob is in a cubicle at school that smells like piss. Alastair shows him stuff, gets Dean to reciprocate. It’s a nice change, from all the decisions and duties he has at home. With Alastair he does as he’s told and gets rewarded when he does. And ‘cause Alastair’s got so much influence, people notice Dean. In good ways. He’s always stuck to the backgrounds, happier avoiding people, but Alastair brings him into the public eye and it’s kinda awesome.

Until it’s not. Alastair reminds Dean every now and again that any girl Dean’s age would put out, that he could just as easily find someone smaller, prettier, smarter than Dean, and Dean finds he’s in no position to argue. Hurts like hell. Hurts worse than hell, ‘cause Alastair’s pestering him like it’s Dean’s fault it’s not great, and he mocks Dean’s pained gasps and cries, gives him a cigarette and tells him to man up.

It’s disturbingly similar to how Dad acts when Dean gets emotional. Some shrink would have a field day with Dean - or maybe not, maybe he’s the cliché-est of all clichés. But Dean needs Alastair, and no one else would have him anyway, ‘til the day Dad catches them curled up on the filthy couch. Dad’s just been fired (again) and his temper was at breaking point before he found his son cuddling up to another boy. Awesome.

Dad yells at and humiliates Alastair, threatens to taking his belt to Dean after Alastair’s left. He doesn’t, but it’s a close call. Dad impresses on Dean his anger and leaves to the bar, so Dean’s alone with his thoughts. Sammy’s absence is bittersweet; kid doesn’t need to see more violence and he’s happy on a school trip, but Dean could use some company. Instead, he’s got Star Trek and chips.

Dean skips the next day of school, smokes in a park and eats bag after bag of donuts and pokes at his fresh bruises, queasy (but he just can’t stop eating). And going back to school is the dumbest idea, ‘cause Alastair’s been humiliated so he’s pissed. When Alastair’s pissed, so’s the whole school.

Doesn’t matter. Dean’s taken out of school by lunchtime, Uncle Bobby’s swung by. He’s pale-faced and pulls Dean into a hug when they meet, which is weird as hell ‘cause they’re not a touchy-feely bunch, and Dean’s fourteen years old; he doesn’t hug.

“It’s your dad and Sam,” says Uncle Bobby gruffly. That’s how he speaks, Bobby - gruffly. Everything he says is swallowed up by his beard and every situation can be dealt with the same brusque attitude. He’s the most dependable thing since Dad’s shoulders were out of the question, so Dean clings to him even though he’s fourteen and on school grounds, because Bobby’s scared and that’s a really fucking bad sign.

They drive in the big old pickup to the hospital, and he explains briefly while keeping his eyes very insistently on the road. Car accident. Blood alcohol content high.

God. Sammy coming back from a school trip, and all Dad had to do was pick him up, excitable, fresh-faced Sammy, jumping in the car still so hyped from the fun of being around his friends. Dean imagines him talking a mile a minute to Dad as they drive home, Dad half drunk ‘cause his son was making out with a dude.

When they get to the hospital, they sit and wait for hours. Uncle Bobby has endless cups of coffee and keeps giving Dean more chocolate milk, like he’s a kid, and he’s pissed off when the staff seem to think he’s too young to know what’s going on too. So pissed off, in fact, that Uncle Bobby has to take him outside to calm down, and when they finally go back in, they get news.

They’re gonna be fine, more or less.

Dean’s so relieved he bursts into tears.

~

Sammy hardly eats his cereal, pushes off upstairs quickly to gather his school things, leaving Dean to clear up. Dean finishes Sam’s cereal, lest it goes to waste, and dumps the dish in the sink. He worries about Sammy’s eating, kid hardly eats a thing. Sammy’s eleven now, a year since the accident, and so riddled with anxieties that he hardly goes out, barely eats, he’s withdrawn and flinches when he hears a car. He point blank refuses to get into a car with Dad at all - not that Dean blames him, he’s pretty glad they’ve not been able to afford another one.

The Impala sits in Bobby’s scrapyard, her smashed up state covered only by a tarp. Dad didn’t want Bobby messing with her, so Bobby left her alone, but Dad’s never made a move to repair her himself. Can’t afford the parts, but Dean wishes he’d try. She’s more their home than this crappy house is.

Dean makes himself and Sammy a packed lunch, tucking a note in Sammy’s saying eat it all. He checks in on Dad, face down on his stained pillow, hand still clutching a whisky bottle. There’s been two new jobs in the past year, one he’d been fired from and one he’d walked, considering it beneath him. Which kinda sucks ass, ‘cause they really need the money.

As usual, Dean walks Sammy to school and dawdles on the way to his own. Sammy’s classes are a half hour before Dean’s and there’s a fifteen minute walk between the two, and every day Dean does his best to drag it out as long as possible. If he gets to school earlier than he’d like, he hides out in the library, where it’s safe.

It didn’t used to be this bad, but he never did like school anyway, even before the whole mess with Alastair. Dean’s dumb, he knows it. Gets told everyday, by Dad, kids in his class, Sammy…. he’s got this stupid stutter when he speaks in front of people too, and finds it hard to meet people’s eyes. It’s too intense, too much, keeping eye contact. He’s chubby, and he likes boys. Sometimes he likes girls too, but maybe just because he thinks he should.

Whatever. Most days, there’s a great black hole inside of him, and it needs feeding.

As Dean makes dinner,  Dad asks him what’s wrong with his face.

“Got in a fight,” Dean replies, his cheeks flushing.

“Oh yeah?” Dad perks up with interest. “You win?”

“You should see the other guy,” says Dean, his breath hitching at the end but he pulls a grin to cover it up and avoids Dad’s eye.

Dad barks a laugh. “That’s my boy,” he says proudly, slapping Dean’s shoulder. He leaves the room with a beer in his hand.

“That’s my boy” rings through Dean’s head. It’s pretty fucked up that Dean ‘winning’ a fight gets Dad proud. That’s my boy. Dean shakes his head, stirring the bolognese. Yeah, the one beaten into the dirt every day, he thinks bitterly. He usually gets a few punches in, but they’re weak. It’s not even worth trying.

Dean’s used to it, though. Dad usually doesn’t comment - doesn’t notice, as far as Dean’s aware. And embarrassingly, Sammy’s well aware of how much Dean has the crap kicked and laughed out of him, but Sammy’s got his own problems. He’s not really bullied, which doesn’t seem fair, ‘cause he’s small and weedy and a teacher’s pet, and twitches at fucking everything. But he’s got this cutting wit, and is mostly unshakeable. Dean blushes like there’s no tomorrow but sometimes it seems nothing will faze Sam.

At least, until he hears the screech of car breaks.

Dad returns, sits down next to Sammy with a heavy sigh. “How’s school, kiddo?”

Sammy doesn’t reply, completely engrossed in the book he’s reading.

Dad clicks his fingers in front of Sammy’s face, making him jump. “Sammy. School?”

Sam blinks a couple of times. “What?” He frowns, bleary-eyed, like he’s just woken up. “School?”

“Yeah, how was it?” Dad’s getting exasperated and rolls his eyes at Dean. Dean manages an appreciative smile back, trying not to pull at his split lip.

“It was okay,” nods Sammy, clearly desperate to keep on reading. Always got his head in a book, Sammy does, and Dad usually bitches about it. Though, not always. Sometimes he just watches Sammy with a strange expression, one Dean can’t decipher.

“Yeah? You - uh, how were your lessons?”

“Okay,” Sammy says, jigging his leg. He doesn’t elaborate and the silence is heavy and thick.

“We made a poster in History,” he offers reluctantly, finally breaking the silence.

“Great,” says Dad.

And then there’s silence again.

“Hey, jerk, move your crap off and set the table,” says Dean, flicking Sam on his shoulder.

“Watch your mouth,” grumbles Dad.

Sammy hauls himself up from the couch and slides his books into his schoolbag and takes the bag off the table, flashing Dean a grateful smile. Dad cracks open another beer.

Dinner cooked, Dean says, “Lay the table, Sammy,” and drains the pasta, mixing it with the sauce. He puts the food down on the table, ladles a fair amount on Dad’s plate and less for Sammy. Hopefully it’s the kind of size he’ll eat all of. Dean only  gives himself a little bit more than Sammy, ‘cause he’s gotta start eating less, and notes the approving nod Dad gives him.

Dad makes the conversation, mostly over Dean’s food choices and exercise habits, ‘cause when Dad was Dean’s age, he was getting ready to join the Marines. Dean picks at his food, a lump in his throat making it hard to really enjoy the food. He wants to eat more and more just to spite Dad but gives a bunch of hollow lies instead.

His family is so fucked up. Dad finishes his third beer before Sammy’s finished eating and drops his plate in the sink.

“I’m meeting some guys,” he says, pulling on his jacket. “You boys don’t stay up too late tonight.” He cuffs them both gently before leaving, and Sammy stands up with a snort when the door slams shut.

“I’m done,” he says, draining his water.

“C’mon, Sammy, you’ve still got half a plate,” Dean wheedles. It’s a daily battle, trying to force food down Sammy’s throat.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You’re never hungry,” Dean sighs, adopting a rougher voice. “Sit down and eat some more.”

Sammy sighs and pulls a face but he sits down and starts toying with his spaghetti.

“Stop playing with it,” Dean says automatically.

Sammy scowls. He stuffs a pitiful forkful in his mouth and chews aggressively.

Dean ignores him, looking from his empty plate to the pasta left in the pot - but then back down at himself. These jeans strain at his waist, and the top’s not exactly loose.

“Just have some more, who gives a crap?” says Sammy irritably, licking off a dash of sauce from his lips with a neat flick of his tongue.

“‘M fine.” Dean sits watching Sammy push the cold pasta around his plate.

“I’m full,” whines Sammy about five minutes later.

“A couple more bites,” says Dean, wanting to clean Sammy’s plate himself.

Two more forkfuls make it into Sammy’s mouth before he pushes the plate towards Dean. “I’m gonna see what’s on TV. You want this?”

Dean shouldn’t.

He sticks it in the fridge with the big pot, does the dishes and wipes down the table. He’s got the washing next, then take the garbage out, fix the busted light in the bathroom and sew up his ripped jeans, and then do laundry. Dean nags Sammy into drying the dishes and pulling out his dirty clothes but he slips back to the TV at first opportunity.

Dean joins him after he’s sorted through Dad’s room for dirty clothes – man, no one should have to pick up their father’s dirty underwear – and slouches across the armchair in the main room.

“Done your homework?” he mumbles to Sam.

“’Course. Done yours?”

Dean laughs. Sammy shakes his head. “I’ll tell Dad.”

“No, you won’t,” Dean counters.

Sammy shrugs so Dean chucks a cushion at him.

“Bite me, lard-ass!”

“Eat me, twitch.”

They watch in silence as Homer Simpson chases after chips in space. Feels like forever since Dean had chips last. He wants the spaghetti in the fridge again. It just teeters on the edge of his mind, ‘cause he knows he doesn’t fucking need it but fuck, does he want it.

“Did you get beat up again at school?” asks Sammy.

Dean shifts. Sammy says it so offhand, like it’s so expected. But it is expected.

Once upon a time, Dean was Sammy’s hero. They used to run about the house with towels billowing behind them like capes, and Sammy would cry if his wasn’t the same color as Dean’s. Hah.

There are four guys who like to beat him up. Walt, Roy, Zach and Frank. Walt was once a good friend of Dean’s, until Walt’s parents decided his family was a waste of space and told Walt to keep away from Dean. But Frank’s the worst. He’s a big guy, geared to be head of the football team one day. Takes pleasure in punching Dean right in his soft stomach, harder and harder until he loses his lunch.

Like the next day, where they corner Dean just as he leaves the school gates, and Dean’s doubled over and Frank hits him again and again and…. It’s coming. He pukes over Frank’s shoes and he backs away, grossed out.

“Shit! Man, you think Tubby’s puke is gonna make me like him?”

“That’s sick, man!”

Jeers and laughter all around him as Dean spits out a wad of bile and saliva. Someone kicks his back, hard, and he falls forward, landing with his hands in the vomit. Dean shuts his eyes and pretends it’s not happening, this can’t be happening to him.

“Ain’t like Losechester to pass up on food,” sneers someone, somewhere over his head.

But it is happening, ‘cause a hand pushes his head down, gripping his hair tightly. “Eat it, Losechester,” hisses Frank.

Dean shakes his head, spit dripping down his mouth, and he prays for a cop or anyone to come along, see what all the fuss is about.

“Eat it, you fuck, c’mon!”

His head’s pushed down further and Dean jerks it back automatically. That gets him shoved right to the ground, nose scraping the dirt through the vomit. He gags again and pulls back, and the hand lets up.

God fucking finally.

“Ew!”

“Fuck him, come on, lets go,” someone says, and Dean’s so fucking grateful.

When he looks up a few minutes later he’s completely alone. Dean takes off the puke-stained sweater and wipes his face on the sleeve. He so wants to throw it in the garbage but this is the only sweater that still fits him. He shoves it in his schoolbag, not giving a fuck if it makes his schoolwork puked covered. Sammy’s gonna have to walk home alone, because Dean can’t face going all the way to his middle school and hey, it’s not like Sam’s gonna miss him.

 

 


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for alcoholism and drugs addiction, sex and weight stuff! Enjoy, lovies!

There are tits bouncing in Dean’s face. He nips at them, thrusting harder and harder, so close and he wants to bite his way through his orgasm. She’s hot and wet and tight but hasn’t come yet, so he drags a thumb over and over her clit, trying to time it with his thrusts but failing badly.

It works, though. She comes, and Dean’s free to lose himself, the heat and tightness taking him away, and he comes with a groan, kissing the girl above him. She flinches when he pulls out but Dean wraps his arms around her and kisses her neck, feeling hot and sweaty and the usual shakes of post orgasm.

She’s cute, giggling into his neck when Dean nips her ear, and he feels guilty that he doesn't know her name, but she called him Dan during sex, so it won’t keep him up at night. He sticks his nose into her hair and inhales strongly - there’s something really fucked up in the way that chick shampoo makes him think of Mom, even the ones he’s sleeping with.

Her back’s nice, though. Nice and soft, and Dean loves the post nuptial cuddles. He’d stay here forever if he could, but the condom’s gotta come off.

“Where you going?” the woman grumbles as he disentangles himself from her.

“Gotta piss, and -” Dean gestures to his covered dick. She snorts and rolls over in the covers, baring her ass to him.

He’s not sure whether he should leave or not when he returns from the bathroom, but she makes the decision for him. She’s lying on her back when Dean returns, the blankets around her waist, her breasts on full view and doing this thing where she rests her teeth on her bottom lip and it’s hot as hell.

Dean smiles and walks over, leaning over her to put his hands on her cheeks and kisses her. She giggles against his lips and wraps her cold hands around his ass and pulls him so he's straddling her.

“Mmmm,” she pulls back, smiling softly. “Fuck, I could kiss you forever.”

Dean noses around her jaw and up her neck, nipping at her jugular and latching onto her earlobe. She breathes out, loudly and contented, her hand cupping his chin and holding it in position. He nibbles around the lobe and settles his whole mouth around it, sucking and darting his tongue around and grazing his teeth along the side of her face.

She cats her hips, moaning softly, and runs a hand through his hair, pushing his head downwards softly. Dean toys with her nipples but she wants further down. Fair’s fair, she blew him earlier, and he’s fantastic with his tongue.

~

Reggie slaps his back as Dean comes into the shop in the morning, same clothes as yesterday, unshaven and unwashed.

“Here he comes!” cheers Reggie, winking at Dean. Dean smirks and sneaks around the back to change into his overalls and get some coffee. He’s late, but Bobby owns the shop and Reggie usually covers for him - pointlessly, ‘cause the Winchesters live with him now. And Bobby would never say it, but he thinks Dean doesn’t get out enough and has yet to get pissed with Dean about being late to work.

Bobby took them in, eventually. It was under the rule that Dad keeps more or less sober and got back to work, that Dean would complete high school and aim for college, and that Sam would get counselling.

Dean snorts. Dad’s still a drunk, Dean dropped out at seventeen and Sammy - well. Best not to think of it. Sammy’s alive, and getting better.

But Bobby’s main concern was always obvious. He didn’t care too much about John, old enough to look after himself. And Sammy was okay back then, just a little bit screwy. Nah, it was Dean who was the focus. He did this thing when he was fifteen, maybe sixteen, where he’d managed to drop a lot of weight in not very long, and keep going. More than that, he’d started being - weird. It took Dean a while, but he learnt to hide his crap, but Bobby took them in before that happened.

Dean never did manage to get skinny skinny, not like Sammy skinny, or most people skinny. He’s got this layer of soft, which has to fucking go.

With Bobby keeping a close eye and with his fucking freckles and green eyes and goddamn lips, sometimes it feels everyone’s eyes are on him. He’s obtrusive, and it’s awesome in the right circumstances, but usually it’s uncomfortable. Claustrophobic.

Dean’s sorted himself out over the years, become more of a man a father would be proud of. And Dad is proud, Dean’s pretty sure. Dean imagines joining the marines would make Dad prouder but Sam made Dean promise he never would.

A car rolls in with Reggie in the front seat, grinning his ass off. Idiot, thinks the car is cool. And sure, it’s nice, an old VW Beetle, but an ‘83 Fiat Spider  calls to Dean, sitting in the corner all bust up, poor thing. He wants to rebuild and spend months trying to get her purring again, but it’d cost too much. Bobby says it’s a write off, and he’s usually right. It’s a shame, ‘cause the rebuilding is what Dean loves the best. Take this car, uncared for and damaged, give her some love and affection and one day, she’s better. All shiny and perfect.

Instead, he’s got to repaint a red Honda Civic.

Dad’s not around when Dean finishes work, and Bobby’s out for the evening - “seeing a friend for a drink.” Which means he’s trying to get in Ellen Harvelle’s pants. Dean hasn’t the time to talk to his family anyway, hardly enough time to shower and give his hair a quick fiddle in the mirror. He doesn’t think he’s eaten all day (doesn’t think? Fuck, he knows he hasn’t eaten) but at least it means he can pat his ‘flat’ stomach and pull on a henley and a flannel, and walk out the door with confidence.

And a light head.

The church is modern, but worn out. It doubles as a community centre and there’s some graffiti on the side of the building. Dean’s wary, entering through the smeared glass doors with a sick feeling in his stomach. He follows the sound of voices to the large main hall of the church, where it’s cold and intimidating with the small group of people sitting in a circle on crappy plastic chairs, all staring at him. Dean rubs the back of his neck and sits in a free seat, next to a tired looking woman. Sammy’s almost opposite him, next to an older black man, and they both smile at Dean.

Well, Sammy beams, but he’s tapping his long fingers against his baggy jeans. An old nervous habit; it calms Dean to see Sammy, his little brother, in this skinny, haunted version of Sam. And then Sammy takes the tapping hand in his other, starts rubbing. It’s a habit Dean doesn’t like so much. He does it when he’s itching for something.

A couple of people stand up and talk, all looking way too normal to be drug addicts. Dean hardly pays attention, doesn’t want to hear about lives wrecked by drugs and all the stupid daily struggles. Sammy struggles a lot, but he manages, and it scares Dean to hear how close these people are to relapsing.

Finally, it’s Sam’s turn. The man next to him taps his shoulder and Sam stands up, all coltish and shy after the vibrant short dude before him.

“I, uh-” Sammy clears his throat and ducks his head, breathing hard, hands rubbing together. “Sorry. Okay,” he nods and looks up, looking like a terrified child. “So, I’ve invited my brother here today,” and he gestures vaguely to Dean and heat bursts in Dean’s cheeks, “because - well, you guys know me pretty well now, huh?” Sam laughs shakily and they all smile at him. “And I - uh, I’ve made peace with my dad, y’know? I’ve said a lot of bad things to him over the years, I’ve stolen from him, and I - I even, um, I hit him once.” Sammy drops his eyes and rubs his hands hard.

He breathes deeply a few times and Dean catches himself mirroring Sam's breathing. Sam looks back up and catches Dean’s eye, holding the contact. It’s like when Sammy used to have school plays when he was really little, would stumble and be unable to say his lines; Dean holds Sam’s gaze and gives him a nod, and Sam gets right back into it. Funny, Dean’s really the shy one of them (when he’s not being obnoxious) but Sam’s all or nothing. So fucking confident he makes Dean’s chest hurt with envy sometimes, but at other times he’s a stammering wreck, like he is now.

“Yeah, so, I still have a lot to say to my dad because - I mean, everything I’ve done to him he’s only done back worse.”

Dean breaks the eye contact and looks down at his feet, heat spreading to his neck.

“And I’ve got more people to make peace with. I’ve hurt so many people and I will make it right, I have to. But I can’t go any further without talking to Dean.” Sam nods and looks to the man next to him, the man in charge.

“Go on, Sam,” the man says.

Sam nods again, like one of those stupid noddy headed dog things. “So, my dad wasn’t around a whole lot when we were kids and Dean did everything for me. He’d make me my lunch, get me dressed in the morning, help with my homework, walk me to school and back…. and he took care of the house too. Dean did the washing and he cleaned up after us and he cooked and he got a job…” Sam rubs his hand.

The sincerity in his baby brother’s voice is painful as he continues. “Dean was always there for me, and over the years I wasn’t there for him. It was a girlfriend of mine who got me hooked,” Sammy pulls a face but won’t say the ugly word ‘heroin’. Yeah, Dean remembers Ruby, the conniving bitch who stole his sweet little brother. He’d been wary of her from the start, but all Sammy saw was this cute older girl who took an interest in him, had a bright sense of humor and took no shit. Of course he idolized her.

“When I was using, I stole from Dean. I stole money he worked really hard for, money that went to keep me and him and Dad fed and in clothes.” He’s looking straight at Dean now and Dean tries to avoid eye contact without looking like he's trying. “I stole from him because I thought, why the hell not? Because some of the money went to Dad so he could keep drinking, and we always had enough for food and rent so I supposed Dean wouldn’t miss ten bucks here and there. And of course, it never was ten bucks, never here or there, but I guess,” Sam shrugs, looking ashamed. “I guess I got used to it. And Dean called me out on it, he did, but I said such awful things to him and I-I shouldn’t’ve.” Sam stops to take a breath.

Tears shine in Sam’s eyes. Fuck, Dean doesn’t want to be here, he doesn’t want to hear all of this.

“And Dean’s still here today,” Sam sniffs and wrinkles his nose, pulling a shaky smile. “He’s here. My dad gave up on me, he gave up years ago. Dean has always put me first, even when he shouldn’t have, and Dean - man, I know you’ve given up so much to keep me safe. I’m so fucking sorry I tossed that away. You - you should have had your own life, man, you shouldn’t have had to do all of this…. I just…. I really fucking love you.” Sammy’s voice breaks and he wipes his eyes, and he’s blurry in Dean’s vision.

People clap but Dean drops his head, taking deep, deep breaths because he’s not gonna start bawling like a little girl. Eventually, when the man in charge starts talking, Dean’s able to lift his head. He nods at Sam once - and if his jaw is shaking a bit, no one says anything.

There’s tea, coffee, juice and biscuits later, and Dean fusses over his own black coffee and does the whole business of checking his phone as Sammy talks with his rehab friends. Dean’s still shaky and a fair bit emotional; he doesn’t want to go talk to Sam right now. He makes a move to the corner but a man steps in his way. Tall, maybe shorter than Dean, close cropped dark hair, bright blue eyes.

Handsome.

“Are you Dean?”

Dean blinks. “Uh - yeah.”

The man smiles. It’s a kind of goofy smile, but flashes his white teeth and it draws Dean’s attention to his pink, thick lips. His soft pink thick lips. Inviting pink thick lips. “It’s good to finally meet you. My brother is friends with your brother; I’ve heard a lot about you.”

He sticks out his hand with the air of a child being told it’s polite to do so. Dean takes his hand to shake. It’s warm and rough; solid. Dean likes a firm handshake but the man doesn’t quite shake,  he just clasps.  

“All good, I hope,” Dean jokes uneasily.

The man nods, staring into Dean’s eyes with unsettling intensity. “The best. You sound like a wonderful brother.”

They’ve still not stopped the handshake.

“Thanks,” replies Dean, somewhat bemused.

“My pleasure.”

Dean pulls his hand back as the man doesn't seem to be letting up soon, and Dean’s relieved to have his hand to himself again. The man doesn’t speak more and if Dean were anywhere else, he’d tell the dude what a fucking creep he’s being.

But this is important to Sam.

“I’m gonna go find my brother,” says Dean after a period of painful silence, jerking his head to where he last saw Sam.

“Of course. He’s very proud to be that, you know,” the man replies.

“Sorry, what? Be what?”

“Your brother.”

The sincerity in this place is killing him.

Dean nods again, wetting his lips. “Hey - uh, what’s your name?”

“Castiel.”

What? “What?” asks Dean, sure he’s misheard.

“Castiel," he repeats, his expression intense.  "My parents are religious. It’s after the angel of Thursdays.”

Right.

“It’s been real nice talking to you, Cas but I’ve gotta-”

Dean scans the room and spots the back of his brother’s head, where the hair curls gently as it reaches his collar, like a little kid’s does. He heads over and claps him on the back and Sam turns around, looking hesitant until Dean nods at him again, pulls him in for a hug. Dean breathes in Sammy-smell; his coconut body wash and a hint of cigarette smoke, warming and reassuring. It’s like they’re young again, with Sam clinging to him like this.

“I’m real glad you’re here, Dean,” Sam whispers into Dean’s neck.

“Yeah,” Dean pats his back, “me too.”

They part and wipe their eyes, for once without any shame. And Dean looks at Sam, really looks at him: his floppy-haired, too skinny, pink cheeked, ridiculously tall little brother.

And he looks good. For the first time in years, his cheekbones aren’t sharp lines cutting into his face. He stands a little stooped - apologetically stooped, which is way better than how he walked when he was high and cocky and just damn cruel. His eyes are bright and have real life in them and, hell, Sammy might be happier than he’s been for a long time.

His baby brother is grown up.

“You’re looking good, man,” Dean says, slapping his shoulder in an attempt to be a bit more masculine.

Sam smiles, flashing his dimples. “Yeah, you too,” he says, like he didn’t see Dean last night.

Sam clears his throat and stands a little taller. “This is my friend Gabe,” says Sam, shoving forward a skinny short guy, cramming biscuits into his mouth.

‘Gabe’ says something incomprehensible and sprays a bunch of crumbs everywhere. Dean raises an eyebrow, unimpressed as the guy coughs and gulps down Kool Aid. “Sorry - nice to meet you. Saw you met my brother already.”

“What - Castiel?”

Gabe nods. “Yeah, Cassie. Likes to make sure I’m keeping out of trouble,” Gabe winks at Sam. Dean glances over to where Castiel is talking animatedly with the tired woman Dean had sat next to. Gabe follows his gaze, wincing as the woman edges away from Cas, clearly trying to break the conversation. Dean’s heart goes out to the guy; Cas doesn’t even register she wants out.

“He didn’t say anything weird to you, did he?” Gabe asks Dean with an air of desperation.

“Not really,” Dean shrugs.

“‘Cause he does that. Fuckin’ awful at light discussion, likes to cut open your soul and let you burn in front of him. Fuckin’ weirdo, my brother,” he shakes his head. “Family, huh? What can you do?” Gabe slaps Sam’s middle and asks, “Go for a smoke?”

Sam’s itching to go, and truth be told so is Dean, so they all go out and light up.

It’s mild out, the sun sinking fast, the sky purples and pinks behind the curls of smoke from Dean’s cigarette.

“You should quit,” says Sam to Dean through his own cigarette.

Dean inhales and lets the smoke escape in twists, the fire controlled. “Fuck, no,” he snorts.

“Dude, I mean it,” Sam protests. “It helps me when I need - but you, it’s just killing you slowly!”

Dean gets it, ‘cause it helps him when he needs, too. “My body, my rules,” he says breezily, watching another thin line of smoke disperse into the air.

Sam makes a soft noise at the back of his throat and shakes his head. He’s working himself up to something; Dean can see it in the way he’s shifting his weight on his feet.

“Sam -” Dean’s cut off by his little brother, which is good because he doesn’t know what he was going to say.

“Did you like it today?” Sam asks quickly, ducking his head and turning towards Dean.

Behind Sam, Dean sees Gabe playing with his lighter and moving his head to make smoke patterns. “Sure,” Dean says, “It was okay.”

Sam digs his foot in the ground. “You maybe wanna come next week?” he asks, like he’s a snot nosed kid asking Dean to come to the park with him.

Dean blinks. “Sure, yeah, uh - if you want me to.”

“I do,” Sam says quickly.

“‘Course I’ll come, Sammy,” says Dean, nudging Sam’s arm with his elbow.

They smoke together for a few minutes, but Sam’s not done. Dean knows; Sammy’s tells are more familiar to him than his own.

Sam’s tapping the fingers of his left hand when he speaks. “Also, Dean? I - er, I talked to some professors at college and USD said they’d be happy to have me back, but my SATs were pretty good, and while my credits at USD aren’t great, my counsellor thinks I might still be able to go anyway,” Sam blurts out in one breath, avoiding Dean’s eye.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, and I was thinking like - maybe California? Like, I don’t know, maybe Stanford or something-”

And Sammy talks on while gray conceals Dean’s vision. California. That’s like - that’s far away. That’s Sammy, out there, alone in the world, so far away from Dean and Dad. Maybe that’s what he wants.

Sammy continues, doggedly protesting how he knows his stuff even though Dean’s not arguing, “and it’d be next year anyway and I can make up some work, but I think I can do this, Dean. I think I can.”

Dean swallows, trying to get some moisture into his mouth. “Stanford, huh?”

Sam shrugs, shrinking in on himself. “I mean, that’s a pipe dream, it’s one of the best colleges in the States and I’ve had a rocky few years, I know that. But just - just if I could - and it doesn’t hurt to try…”

Dean hopes quickly Sam won’t get in, so he’ll stay close and safe, ‘cause else it’s just him and Dad. But he nods, what else can he do? “Go for it, man.”

Gabe appraises him, unsurprised by what Sam’s said. Seems like he told the group before telling Dean - not that Dean can blame him.

There’s nothing else to be said. Sam starts a new cigarette and Dean and Gabe stand with him. It’s surprisingly companionable; Dean, his ex-junkie brother and his ex-junkie brother’s rehab friend.

~

Dean’s dozing on the couch when a loud rattling wakes him up. He sits bolt upright, surprised and disoriented, pulling off the scratchy blanket that Bobby probably threw over him at some point through the night. The rattling comes from the door, someone trying to open it. There’s a gun tucked to the side of the door, which Bobby and Dad sometimes grab when there’s an unexpected visitor but Dean’t not nearly that paranoid.

Besides, he’d recognise that cussing anywhere.

Dean unlocks the door, opens it warily, and it’s Dad of course, key in hand, trying to work out where the door went. He looks up, swaying slightly. “D’n?” he slurs.

“Hey, Dad,” sighs Dean, and Dad slumps straight against him. Fucking hell.

Dean loops his arm over Dad’s shoulder and drags him over the the couch, still warm from where Dean had been. Dad makes an “oof” when he’s dropped on the couch and pats Dean’s arm absently. “Thanks, D’n, yer a good kid.”

Dad’s mouth lies lax, spit sliding down his chin. It’s disgusting.

Dean pulls away from him. “C’mon, go to sleep. You want some water?”

“Whassat?” Dad’s fading fast.

“Water, Dad, you want some?” says Dean, exasperated.

Dad just blinks blearily up at him, so Dean gets a glass of water and tells him to drink it all.

“You wanna g’t me a beer?”

Dean shakes his head. “No, you’ve had enough.”

“Hey!” Dad’s voice raises, getting riled the only way a drunk can get. “You do whatti tell yo-you to do,” he stumbles over his words, gripping the collar of Dean’s shirt.

“Dad, go to sleep,” Dean orders, pushing Dad off. “Come on, sleep.”

Dad nods and lies down, still nodding. “Gla’ you g’t rid of that fat,” he mumbles.

Dean wets his lips, feeling fire in his cheeks. He makes his rounds like he’s done since he was a kid, all the while Dad’s snoring rattles through the house. Bobby does his own rounds first but Dean likes to do his own, checking all the locks and relocking the front door, checking in on Dad again, poke open Bobby’s door - “Go to bed, kid, I’m fine,” and finally his and Sammy’s room.

Sammy’s curled around his pillow, hair obscuring his face, drooling steadily onto the sheets. It’s all safe, Dean can climb into his own bed and unwind. His mind is working fast, thinking about all the food he’s skipped out on and how badly he wants it. He falls asleep eventually, tossing and turning, dreaming about food, and wakes up hating himself a little more.

~

Dean sleeps with another girl that week. She’s gorgeous; a black girl with corkscrew curls and a tinkling laugh. Mel, he thinks her name is. She’s very eager and very open, and when she blows Dean her fingers take a wander, slipping further and further back, and it all goes down pretty well. They part with a kiss and she laughs at the purple lipstick she leaves on his face.

When he gets home, rubbing at his purple cheek, Sam’s holed up in his room, obsessively writing essay after essay in order to prove his worth, or something.

“I have to make sure I’m still good enough,” Sam says, scowling with irritation of Dean’s interruption.

“You don’t think you’re taking this a little bit too seriously?” asks Dean, thumbing through page after page of Sam’s scruffy handwriting.

“Look,” says Sam, not looking up from his paper, “I had a really crappy year at USD and it fucked me over pretty bad. Stanford’s not gonna want me unless I can show them I’m worth it.”

“Yeah, okay, just take care of yourself,” Dean replies, frowning at the bags under Sam’s eyes.

Sam scowls and scribbles out a few words. “No pain, no gain,” he says flippantly.

“Did you eat lunch?”

Sam ignores him, which Dean takes as a no.

Bobby shakes a head at him when Dean starts making a sandwich for Sam. “Kid, I think you can loosen the reins a bit,” he says, leaning back against the counter. “I’m making dinner soon, he can live until then.”

Dean shrugs, scraping some mayo onto the bread. Dean makes the best sandwiches,it’s his only talent. “He’s a skinny kid. And writes like a fucking storm; he’s got to keep his strength up for all those fucking essays.”

Bobby shakes his head again. “He’s determined, I’ll give him that.”

Dean’s neck prickles under Bobby’s gaze as he adds salami and tomato. “What?” he says curtly.

Bobby shrugs, eyes wide. “Why don’t you eat that yourself?”

“Nah - not hungry.”

Bobby eyes Dean, the way he does every so often, not even trying to hide it. It’s stifling; Dean wets his lips and pours some water into a glass.

“Lookin’ a little thin, kid.”

Dean should like it when people say that to him, ‘cause it’s what he wants. Well - good thin, masculine thin. But it doesn’t. It makes him feel conspicuous, like everything rests on the size of his stomach, like everyone’s watching his fat with rabid eyes. Anyway. Thin’s not for people like Dean.

“Bobby, I’m fine,” Dean says easily. “Look at me!” He puts the plate down and puffs up his chest, grinning at Bobby the way he grins to get laid.

“Yeah, sure you are.” Bobby flicks at Dean’s hair. “How long did that hairstyle take you?”

Dean flushes. “I didn’t-”

“I can smell the gel from here,” says Bobby, the same tone he’d use when humored Sam and Dean’s past attempts at dressing up.

“It’s only a little bit,” replies Dean, embarrassed. “And I’m not the one wearing cologne!” Dean peers at Bobby, at the hair buried under his trucker cap, at the way Bobby’s the one defensively crossing his arms. “And Bobby, is that - yeah, it is! Have you brushed your hair? And is that a clean hat?”

Bobby swats at Dean again. “Got a date tonight.”

Dean whistles. “You know, I’m not a big fan of how much you’ve been going out. You think I’m running a hotel here?”

“Bite me!” Bobby straightens the collar of his (freshly ironed!) shirt. “And Dean, the whole showing up late to work thing in the same clothes you wore the day before? It’s getting old. At least take a shower before you come in. And on time, if you don’t mind.”

Dean has the grace to look somewhat abashed, but Bobby looks at him with fondness, saying, "Tell the giant upstairs I said goodbye, and for God's sake help him have some fun, wouldya?"

"Sure thing, Bobby," Dean nods, and as Bobby picks up his keys and opens the door, he yells out, "And use protection!"

Bobby swears at him and slams the door. Dean chuckles to himself and looks around the empty kitchen. It’s messy, sure, but Sam’s been doing this weird, repentant, cleaning frenzy thing, so it was deep cleaned only a couple of days ago. Dean washes up the dishes while he considers his existence, the way he’s going fucking nowhere and is twenty six, living in their family friend’s house with his drunk dad, how his little brother’s gonna go to California and save the Winchester name all by himself.

He’s shaking by the time he’s onto drying up and goes for a brutal run afterwards, sprinting as far as he can to AC DC. Dean’s glad he’s not eaten, as he’d probably throw it up by now, but he feels lost and drifts away a few times on the run. He gets home gasping and dripping, legs wobbly, and downs a pint of water quickly, close to throwing it back up.

The couch is made of cracked leather and has a few dodgy stains, is probably older than Dean is, but he sinks down onto it gratefully, resting his eyes for just a minute.

Sam’s hand drops heavily onto his side some time later. “Dude, it’s only seven,” says Sam, looking down at Dean from his great height.

“Huh?”

“You’re sleeping at seven.”

“‘m not asleep,” Dean mumbles, his eyes closing of their own accord.

“Sure you’re not.” Sam thumps the back of the couch a few times, making Dean open his eyes properly, pulling a smile at the ink stain on Sam’s lip. “Stop chewing your pens, it’s gross,” he says sleepily.

Sam flips him off. “Wanna watch Star Wars? I’ll make, like, chilli dogs or something.”

Dean pulls himself up, glancing over at the grimy window. Sure enough, the sun’s low in the sky, far too early for him to be sleeping. “You can cook?”

Sam barks a laugh. “Yeah, I can cook. Gabe taught me - it can be kind of... I don’t know- therapeutic?”

Dean nods. “Whatever works, I won’t knock it.”

Sam’s shoulders relax just a tiny bit at Dean’s words, then he hauls Dean up. Dean helps Sam cook, but lets Sam lead, which he seems to appreciate, and they settle watching The Empire Strikes Back with a couple of beers; Sam’s jigging knee makes the couch vibrate.

“I know Stanford’s kind of far,” Sam says without warning, half way into the movie. “But I think the distance could be good for me.”

Dean swallows his mouthful and looks to Sam, staring intensely at the TV. “Get away from all this crap, huh?”

“Yeah, I mean,I love Bobby and it’s great we can be here but I feel kinda old to be -” Sam cuts himself off with a sideways glance to Dean. “I mean - I didn’t mean it like -”

Man, he’d miss every time Sammy put his foot in it.

Dean shrugs. “Sammy, it’s okay. You could have a ticket out of here. Don’t worry about me, man, I’ve gotta keep Dad out of trouble and make sure Ellen doesn’t chew Bobby up and spit him out. And I’ll never get another job this good.” He says it simply, the truth it is, but Sam stiffens and starts to shake his head with vigor.

“No, no way, man. You’re a great mechanic-”

“Sam, leave it. You wanna get away from here and I think that’d be good for you,” Dean says, in the voice Sam calls his parental voice. Well, no, Sam calls it the mommy voice, but that belongs to someone much better than Dean.

Sam looks up at him, and Dean wants to cry because maybe his little brother is really returning. That look, that helpless yet defiant look - it’s Sammy. It’s how he wheedles Dean into fighting his side when he and Dad argue. And now he wants Dean to let him free into the big scary world, all the way to California, and what - do the same for himself?

“Stanford won’t take me anyway.” Sam laughs shakily, “I’m just a washed up old junkie.”

“Dude, you’re twenty one. Ain’t that old.”

Sam smiles wryly. “Stanford is one of the best schools in the country, and I’ve got five years of drug addictions and rehab.”

Dean nudges him with his elbow. “You also have almost perfect SATs and a solid 4.0GPA, despite the drugs and rehab. Sammy, you’re a fucking prodigy, man. Not many washed up old junkies can do what you do.”

Sam pulls away, embarrassed. “C’mon, I’ve - I’ve fucked up a lot.”

“Yeah, and look at you now,” Dean flicks Sam’s hair with his middle finger. “You’re doing well in rehab, you’ve got that volunteering thing going on, you’re writing essays every five fucking minutes, talking to everyone you can… Sam, you’re the smartest person I know, and if Stanford can’t see that then … fuck ‘em, man.”

Yoda says some deep crap in the background but they’ve both pretty much forgotten the movie now. Sam wrinkles his nose and fuck, he looks like he’s about to cry.

“And you’ve got the perfect douchey hair for college,” Dean adds with a soft smile. If the fucker starts crying, Dean doesn’t know what he’ll do - probably start tearing up too, and then they’ll just be bawling on the couch together.

Sam looks at him, watery-eyed and puppy faced, like Dean’s his saviour.

“We don’t have to hug or anything, do we?” asks Dean, pulling a face.

Sam shakes his head but pulls Dean in anyway.

“Besides,” Dean mumbles, when Sam’s fucking weeping on his shoulder. “You’ve got one thing no one else has got. You got me.”

Sam’s breath hitches and he pulls Dean in tighter. They hug for about a minute before Dean’s got to break the mood.

“Well, this isn’t gay at all.”

Sam pulls away and shakes his head at Dean. “You’re not supposed to say that kind of thing. It’s homophobic,” he says, wiping his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. We done sharing and caring now?”

Sammy nods, pulling his sleeves further down his arms. He doesn’t like to wear short sleeves anymore, doesn’t want the reminders of the track marks on his arms. Sammy does things smart, he likes to research every single thing before he does it, and so his arms are pretty decent for a heroin user - at least, compared to Ruby’s arms, and some of the marks he’s seen visiting Sammy at rehab. Sam told Dean eventually he’d used a variety of veins, like his legs and ankles, trying to spread out the damage so to not collapse any.

Easier to disguise, he’d explained. The whole, keeping his limbs healthy thing was more of a positive side effect, not the intent.

So you weren’t trying to hurt yourself? Dean had scoffed.

Sam had been hesitant, only just having come out of using at this point, all raw and confused and hurting, and it was killing Dean how he couldn’t take him by his hands and sort out everything for him. He was rubbing his hands so much Dean had worried he’d get friction burns. I don’t think so. It was nice to get away from everything, you know? A way out from all the - all the crap.

Yeah, Dean could get that.

Least my veins are okay, Sammy had laughed through tears. My doc reckons I’m pretty lucky, got some angel watching over me.

A vision of their mother in a white nightdress, smiling down on her sons had swum into Dean’s head. Yeah, he’d said through his own tears, Yeah, I bet there is.

It was an overdose, of course, to kick it for Sam. He’d shot up just a bit too much, vomited and passed out. Dean always hated that Ruby chick but the best thing she ever did was call 911 and clear out Sammy’s mouth. She may have helped to royally fuck over Sam’s life, but she’d also saved it, and for that Dean would be forever in her debt.


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for homophobia/biphobia and body image things and bad eating habits. But there is some flirting which is nice!

Another week, another NA meeting. Dean’s late (again) but Sam beams when he enters the room, as Sam comes straight from his care centre volunteering on Wednesdays, and there just so happens to be a free seat next to Castiel. Dean sits in the plastic seat, shifts a bit, trying to settle, and Cas peers at him with a strange expression before looking back towards the front. 

Dean wets his lips, ‘cause Cas is as weird as he remembered.

He’s wearing the same old trenchcoat and a suit underneath, his blue tie the wrong way around, and a small layer of stubble. And then Cas turns his head and looks back at Dean. Dean looks back to Sam quickly, but Cas continues to peer, every often turning back to the group and inspecting others. Is it rude to edge away? He’s wary that Cas is gonna drag him into some fucked up conversation at the end, like how Gabe warned.

Everyone at the group has some sob story, and some are truly shitty. Dean wonders if it’s possible to end up at a place like this without the sob story, but then, everyone’s got a sob story somewhere. Most importantly, they have regrets. It’s the regrets that both have them rushing out to do better and hiding back in shame. He doesn’t envy any of them.

Sam hasn’t much to say today, just some vague plan to try and talk to Dad. Sammy and Dad, though, they aren’t too good at the whole communication thing. They’re too different.

Dean looks after both of them, takes care of them both, talks to them and for them, and he gets Dad. He gets what Dad wants and dreams, what he fears. And Dean gets Sam too; Sam wants out and Dean understands why. Dad doesn’t know - doesn’t want to know - why Sam started using, can’t understand that he wasn’t trying to hurt anyone, that he was just lost.

So Sammy and Dad don’t talk too much, and when Dean’s not standing there trying to keep the peace, they can get pretty heated. It makes Dean a bit apprehensive about the impending college  discussion.

Cas makes no move to talk when the session closes, gets up from his chair with hardly a look to Dean. Before he knows it, he’s tapped Cas’s arm. “Hey,” he says, lamely.

Cas looks up, waiting for him to say something.

“So,” Dean struggles for something to say. “You’re back.”

Cas frowns. “Yes, I did say I liked to frequent the meetings.”

“Yes, you did,” Dean replies, even more lamely. Shit. “Sammy asked me to keep coming - lots of people here relatives?”

Cas turns so he’s properly turned towards Dean. “Some. I believe some members find it beneficial, others not so.”

“Right,” Dean nods. He should politely end the conversation and leave, ‘cause they both want to find their brothers. Instead, he asks, “What do you do, Cas?”

“I’m a soldier, I fight for the country.” Cas is frowning still, but seems perfectly happy to talk to Dean. At least, Dean hopes.

“Guess that explains the haircut,” Dean jokes. It’s weird, though, the rest of Cas doesn’t suit military. He’s smaller than Dean, more wiry and more muscle than soft, but it’s hard to make out his body under the large trenchcoat. And when Dean looks at his hands, he feels they’re more befitting of a craftsman.

Not that he knows Cas at all, he reminds himself. But Dean wants Cas to be someone who makes things, who fixes things. Not the hands of a killer. He’s got this innocence in his eyes, in his mannerisms. Dean tries to imagine a gun in Cas’s hands, the steady determination and coldness in his blue eyes, and he stands a little straighter.

They’ve been staring at each other for a while. Dean comes to his senses and stops staring - stops trying to analyse this weird dude he’s got a strange crush on, and wets his lips again.

“What’s your profession, Dean?” Cas asks, his eyes very blue and very unblinking.

He’s so fucking hot.

“I’m a mechanic,” Dean says gruffly.

“What sort or mechanic?”

“Uh - cars, mostly.” Mostly? Why the fuck mostly? All cars, only cars. “Nothin’ quite as respectable as fightin’ for your country, but man’s gotta make a living…” and where the fuck are his g’s? He’s turning into a damn hick.

Cas tilts his head. “Why do you say it isn’t as respectable?”

The question stumps Dean. He blinks a couple of times, working a coherent reply. “Dude, all I do is fix cars. You fight to save people, to protect the country.”

“Sometimes.” Cas just looks at him with stiff arms, while Dean’s shrugging his shoulders and gesticulating with his hands, Cas stands very still. Dean imagines it’s very calm inside his head. “You understand the way a car works and find out what ails it, and then fix its issues. That is respectable in my opinion. You disagree?”

Dean shakes his head. “Nah, I like it. Wouldn’t do it if I didn’t - just, people don’t usually get it, you know? When someone gives me the car to fix… Well, they can be pretty important to people. There’s something wrong, and it’s usually something I can fix, and then she rolls free, to take care of her own family.”

Cas nods slowly. “I am concerned that all I do is hurt people.”

Dean shrugs. “Guess I’ve got little chance of that. Anyway, any bored dad can teach you what I do.”

Cas’s eyes come off Dean, and Dean feels like an ass. Dude, Cas just said something important about himself and you totally ignored it! He doesn't know how to acknowledge what Cas had admitted without making the situation even more painful, and Cas says nothing more, so Dean’s immensely grateful when Gabe and Sam join them. He reaches forwards and slaps Sam’s arm with enthusiasm.

“Stop embarrassing me, Cassie,” says Gabe, flicking Cas’s ear.

“I was unaware I was inflicting mortification on you,” replies Cas, a little dryly.

“It’s what you do best, baby brother,” Gabe replies smoothly.

Dean raises an eyebrow. “You’re older? Really?”

Gabe puffs up his chest and scowls at Dean. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he demands, while Cas stands to the side rolling his eyes.

“You’re kinda short, dude,” Dean shrugs.

“Oh - ho - ho,” Gabe says, gesturing his hands towards Sam and Dean. “Height ain’t everything, my friend.”

Fair play.

“Cassie’s the youngest,” Gabe says, slapping his younger brother’s shoulder.

“Of how many?”

Cas grimaces. “Six, in total.”

“Six?” Sam raises his eyebrows. “Shit, it’s hard enough just me and him,” he says, gesturing to Dean. He yelps when Dean swats the back of his head.

“Three sisters, two brothers,” says Gabe, counting them off on his fingers. “Michael, Lucy, Anna, me, Hester and baby Cassie. Two good little soldiers, one perfect housewife and three fuck ups,” he grins hollowly. The easy air that had come with Sam and Gabe has turned back to uncomfortable tension. 

Cas scowls and turns away from Gabe. 

“I’m gonna go for a smoke,” says Gabe after a minute of silence, and he leaves.

Cas sighs heavily and turns back to Sam and Dean, an apologetic expression on his face. “Gabriel can be difficult,” he says solemnly.

“No kidding,” snorts Sam.

“He has - issues - with my family,” Cas frowns.

“That how he ended up here?” Dean blurts without thinking. He regrets it, ‘cause Cas stiffens and is suddenly vulnerable, like he was when he admitted how he thought he caused more harm than good. He looks down at himself quickly, with the crossed arms and stiff knees and drops his arms, letting his hands curl at his sides.

“I’m gonna join him,” Sam says quickly, edging away from them and out the door.

“I think my family is a part of it,” says Cas delicately, meeting Dean’s eyes. His brow is tight and mouth as stiff as his shoulders, but his trenchcoat swamps him. Too long, too baggy, too scruffy.

Dean shrugs and tries to reduce the pressure. “I know it’s my lot that did this to Sam.”

“Maybe this is just how it’s meant to happen.”

All thoughts of making Cas feel more at ease go straight out of Dean’s head. “Meant to be?” he demands. “My little brother almost died. It’s not meant to be, it’s bad choices and a bad situation!”

“Many situations, many choices, will lead to the same path,” Cas replies, but Dean’s shaking his head before he finishes talking.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Dean hisses, aware that people are starting to look over at them.

Cas simply holds up his hands; defeat or appeasement, Dean’s not sure. “I spent a long time blaming myself, my family, other people for my sibling’s mistakes. You have to accept people are imperfect.”

Dean scoffs. “There’s being a whiny little bitch and there’s having a destructive fucking addiction.” He turns away and stalks outside, joining Sam and Gabe and lights up, fuming on the inside.

“Told you he was a weirdo,” says Gabe.

Dean grunts.

~

Tonight, it’s just Dean and his friends, and he feels like he can breathe. They go to the Harvelle’s bar when Sam’s finished his millionth essay and Dean’s shift ends, and the bar is noisy and crowded when they enter, but Ellen’s got a sixth sense for Winchesters.

“Why haven’t you boys called me recently?” she grumps, before pulling Sam into a hug. “Would it kill you to cut that hair?” she says with a broad grin, releasing Sam and pulling Dean in. Ellen’s always soft and warm, smelling of alcohol and perfume. She brings her hand up to Dean’s head, scrubbing it lightly. “Think you’ve got more crap in your hair than Jo,” she teases.

Speaking of, the girl herself steps out from behind the bar in her skimpy top and tight jeans, and Sammy’s starting to blush already.

“Mom, you really gonna let these hobos in here?” Jo sticks her thumbs through her belt loops and smiles wickedly. “Did you even change your shirt, Dean?”

“Course I did!” Dean protests, pulling away from Ellen, until Jo points out the specks of oil on his collar.

Ellen takes Sam aside, a debrief of his recent activities, checking he’s okay and how his treatments are going, and if he wants to talk she’s always there. Sam ducks his head and shuffles about, shy and awkward, but his eyes are bright and he kisses Ellen’s cheek in thanks, every time.

It’s nice, all this support that Sam has. It comforts Dean, that when he fucks up there’s somone who can take over and keep a look out for Sam.

Jo pulls out a beer and hands it to Dean. “On the house,” she says grudgingly, “Come on, let’s get a table.”

It’s still early, for the Roadhouse, so there’s plenty of booths for them to choose from. Jo heads straight for a table tucked away in the corner, behind the pool table where Ellen can’t always spy over on.

“I mean, I’m twenty one,” Jo complains as she slides down the bench, slapping Ash awake. “She doesn’t have to watch my every move. I know she’s pissed I dropped out but I’m an adult!”

Ash sits up, blinking hard and running a hand through his mullet. He kind of lives at the bar, Dean’s not sure of the arrangement but he’s been around a good couple of years now, sorts out paperwork and other stuff and in return, he’s allowed to fall asleep on the furniture.

“Maybe Bobby will loosen her up,” offers Dean, taking a sip of his beer.

Jo laughs. “Yeah, he’s been popping up more and more.”

“Bobby and your mom, weird, huh?”

Jo leans back in her seat, playing with her long hair. “Could be awesome, really. It’d be nice for her to have someone around, since…”

“Yeah,” Dean nods. Jo’s dad died when she was a little kid, probably not much older than Dean was when Mom died, though he’s not wanted to ask. And sure, it’ll be nice for Bobby to have someone, Ellen too, but if Dad was with someone new at this point, filling the sacred hole in their family…

“Must be weird for you, huh?” says Dean quietly.

Jo bobs her head, sipping her beer. “Tell you one thing, Mom’s getting all this life in her. I love it, that she’s happy. Just been me and her, so long… Dean, my mom’s wearing lipstick, doing her hair, checking her phone and giggling.” She shakes her head, casting her eyes upwards. “She’s like a goddamn teenager.”

Dean looks over to Ellen, laughing and patting Sam’s shoulder gently. “She looks good,” he says, watching Ellen’s cheeks dimple as Sam speaks to her. Sam bends over and kisses her cheek, blushing furiously, and makes his way over to Dean and Jo, a bottle of beer in his hand.

“Your mom’s bringing us a plate of fries,” he says, sitting down next to Dean.

“How do you do that?” Jo demands.

Sam tucks his bangs behind his ears. “Do what?”

“She never makes me food!” Jo leans over and ruffles Sam’s hair. “Guess I’m not cute enough.”

“Get off,” Sam whines, trying to push her off, but Jo leans further over, tenacious as anything. They grapple over the table, getting close to knocking the beer over (Dean heroically rescues the bottles before their untimely demise), before Benny shows up, holding a large plate of fries.

Benny quirks an eyebrow at Dean. When he puts the plate on the table Jo and Sam separate and hardly even nod at Benny before fighting over the fries.

“How you doin’, brother?” asks Benny, in his thick southern drawl. He sits next to Jo and claps Dean on the shoulder and shoves a handful of the fries into his mouth.

“Same old,” says Dean, resisting the urge to slap the two next to them and remind them of their ages.

Benny seems to be fighting the same urge. He’s unimpressed, watching Jo and Sam bicker and flick fries at each other, but then Benny’s over thirty and acts a hell of a lot older. Dean’s got a lot of respect for the guy; he’s come to South Dakota from Louisiana for reasons he’s never shared, but slotted into the Roadhouse like he’d been there forever.

But Sam’s turned his body so he’s angled more towards Jo than Benny.

Charlie’s the last to join their eclectic group. She’s ginger and vibrant and likes to admire women with Dean and Benny, but she gives these sidelong glances at Dean sometimes when an attractive dude walks by. Dean tries to keep Charlie at a bit of a distance.

She talks about Doctor Who from the minute she sits down, a British show she’s desperate for them all to watch.

“Guys, it’s so cool!” Charlie burbles with excitement. “Like, it started off back in ‘63 and now it’s back for a whole new season! Well, series is what they call them, but it’s all spacey. The spaceship, it’s called a TARDIS, which means Time And Relative Dimensions In Space, and it’s a blue police box. I think they used to have them in England like fifty years ago - and-”

“Breathe, Charlie,” says Jo, nudging her in the ribs. “It sounds - cool, I guess?” she looks around at the others for back up.

“I’m not expecting you to like it, Miss I Only Watch Old Westerns So People Think I’m Tough,” Charlie says.

Jo laughs. “Bite me, that’s so not the case. I just don’t geek out with Sam and Dean over sci-fi crap!”

“Hey,” Sam crosses his arms indignantly, using a fry to hammer his point. “Dean is the one who gets a boner over Star Trek, not me.”

“It’s a good show!” Dean protests, to the noise of laughter.

Benny draws him into a conversation about how best to fix his car while Charlie talks about a girl she’s got a crush on with Jo, but Dean’s acutely aware of how stiffly Sam sits to the side of him. He doesn’t go out socially now that he’s stopped using. Just the NA meetings, volunteering and any errands Dean, Dad or Bobby have for him. Other than that, he sits alone in their room for hours every day, obsessing over school and essays and how he can recover.

It’s the obsessing that worries Dean, ‘cause it’ll drive Sam mad. So, healthy socialising with a group of safe, close friends, so Dean can keep an eye on him and know he’s safe and having fun.

“Hey,” Dean says in a lull in conversation. “Sam’s got a couple of ideas about his future,” he prompts.

“Yeah?” Benny looks over with interest.

“Uh - yeah, I was looking to transfer at college,” Sam says hesitantly.

Jo widens her eyes. “Where to?”

Sam starts rubbing his hand. “Uh - a bit farther away. I’ve been thinking California, or something.”

“California?” Charlie nods enthusiastically. “California would be awesome. Kinda far, though.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam says, ducking his head.

Dean nudges him. “He just doesn’t want to make y’all feel bad for being uncultured South Dakota hicks. Sammy’s gonna find Hollister models and film stars, work on his tan…”

Sam shoves him. “Knock it off,” he grumbles through a hard to hide smile.

“There a specific college?” Jo presses, finishing her beer.

When Sam doesn’t reply, Dean opens his mouth just to prompt him, but Sam jabs him sharply. “Don’t!” he hisses into Dean’s ear.

Dean holds up his hands in submission. “Dude, I just-”

“I don’t really want to say,” Sam says loudly. “Just in case.”

“Sure,” says Charlie, “You don’t -”

At this point, Ellen, who had been working hard serving customers, racing about pouring drinks and chatting to regulars, strides over to the table and slams a fist down.

Charlie and Sam jump, spilling Sam’s beer over the table.

“Shit - sorry,” Sam says, trying to mop up the spillage with a napkin.

“I got it,” Jo says easily, pulling out a rag from his belt and wipes up the liquid.

“Benny!” Ellen says sharply. “I don’t pay you to gossip, get to work!”

“Yes ma’am,” Benny salutes her. “Get you another, Sam?”

Sam nods and pulls out his wallet but Ellen pats his arm. “On the house, sweetie,” she says, throwing a black apron at Benny as she leaves the table.

Benny sighs. “It’s a hard life,” he says, donning the apron.

Dean wolf whistles. “Lookin’ good!”

Benny flips him off cheerily, patting Ellen’s shoulder as he passes her to get Sam a beer.

“Wanna hear about my awesome hook up last night?” Charlie asks Dean.

“If you wanna share, I’m all ears.”

Charlie beams. “Well, she’s cute as fuck. I was in Candy, drinking, minding my own business, and I look to this entrance and there’s this cute woman? And she looks kind of uncomfortable but I got talking to her and she was so smart, so confident - hot as fuck, confidence,” she adds.

Dean nods.

“And I took her back to mine and I ate her out.”

Dean splutters on his beer. “Classy,” he says, eyes streaming.

“What about you?” asks Charlie. “Any hot young person?”

Dean stiffens. He wishes she’d just let him be. “Hot girl, hot sex.”

“Yeah? Anyone else catching your eye? Maybe -”

“Maybe what?” Dean says through gritted teeth. He’s breathing hard and can feel his heart pumping in his ears because he knows exactly what Charlie’s trying to get at and it makes him uncomfortable. More than that, it makes it hard for him to breathe, hard for him to concentrate.

He takes a drink of his beer and lifts his eyes to Charlie’s, challenging. Charlie gives a small smile and says, “Nothing,” and then turns to talk to Jo again. Dean nods to himself and gets Benny to bring him another beer.

Sam goes straight up to bed when they get home, and Dean heads straight for the fridge. He’s hardly eaten at all and he’s so fucking hungry and just drunk enough that he can’t think straight, and the fridge contains everything he’s ever wanted. Lasagna, all cheesy and meaty and filling, and he stuffs it down. Bread, soft and comforting, the chips are gone so fast, there’s rice, chilli… it’s a race to get it all down him, and his heart thumps so loud because Sam’s upstairs, Dad’s upstairs, Bobby’s upstairs… they could come down and see what a fat fucking loser he is, but no one does come down.

He’s full to bursting at the end, disgusted and ashamed with himself - disappointed, too, ‘cause he’s got no fucking self control. He climbs the stairs, breathing hard like he’s just been running, and goes to the bathroom and turns the shower on. He throws up neatly in the toilet and then takes a shower and cleans his teeth. Sam’s snoring heavily away when Dean climbs into bed, and the noise lulls Dean into sleep, as it’s always done.

~

Dad laughs at Dean, who’s preening in the mirror.

“Going to Sammy’s meeting, huh?” he says. “Got your eye on someone?”

Dean blushes and turns away from the mirror. “No,” he replies, ‘cause he doesn’t. Absolutely doesn’t. No one’s been on his mind, it’s not like he’s thinking about bright blue eyes or jerking off to dudes again, like he’s not done for a while.

“Sure,” Dad grins. “And that wouldn’t be the shirt that Ellen says - uh, ‘suits your complexion’?”

“Dad!” Dean groans, smoothing down the front of his shirt self consciously. It’s his dark red shirt, and yeah okay, Ellen’s said it suits him and so have a few other women.

Ah, fuck. It’s basically his pulling shirt.

“Just wanted to make an effort, for once. It’s hard being the looks of the family,” says Dean, turning back to fiddle with his hair again.

“Tough life, huh?”

But Cas smiles when he sees Dean, and Dean catches a couple of people in the room eye him approvingly, so he hopes that Cas has the same view of him. They sit by each other, legs relaxed enough that there’s half a centimeter between their knees. Dean fidgets a lot, because he’s a child and can’t sit still ever, and so their knees graze a few times, sending sparks up Dean’s leg.

So he might have a crush.

Not sure how, given he's fucked up most of their conversations so far. 

They go outside afterwards, because Dean wants a cigarette and Sam’s engaged in conversation across the room, and it means him and Cas get to talk alone.

“I hate that you smoke,” Cas says idly as Dean cups his hand around his cigarette to light up.

Dean responds by sucking in deeply and exhaling a great lungful, feeling his tension ease.

“Why do you do it?” Cas presses. “I understand our siblings consider it preferential to the alternatives, but it’s so bad for you.”

“Have done since I was a kid,” Dean replies.

Cas looks at him. “A kid?” he asks sharply. “How old were you?”

Dean thinks back. He’d hidden them, for a long time because Dad was never a smoker, but Bobby smoked and Dad stopped caring. “Maybe - I don’t know. Fourteen, fifteen?”

“And now you’re how old?”

“Twenty six.”

Cas nods. “By smoking you raise your risk of heart attack by 70%,” he comments.

“Awesome,” says Dean, like he’s not heard the health risks a million fucking times already. “How old are you, anyway?”

“Nearly thirty one.”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “And Gabe?”

Cas smirks. “Thirty four. He doesn’t act his age.”

Dean exhales loudly. “Shit. That’s…. wow.”

“It’s the fingerless gloves. Gabe’s act of rebellion.” He shakes his head fondly. “My parents are rather rich, so Gabe favours clothing which make him appear homeless,” says Cas wryly. “He actually dressed better when he was homeless.”

“He was homeless? What about your parents?”

Cas looks out across the parking lot. “It was voluntary. He was living at home for a long time and left, suddenly. We weren’t aware of his location, of his preoccupations…. he didn’t speak to us.” Cas speaks plainly and doesn’t betray any emotion. “And now he’s here,” Cas shrugs.

“Sam never did that,” Dean says, surprising himself. Telling people about Sam’s addictions isn’t something he often does. “It’s one of the things I’m grateful for in this whole mess. But he used to stay out like, days at a time. He’d stay at this chick’s - Ruby, her name was.”

“Was?”

“Is,” Dean corrects himself, quirking the side of his mouth up. “She’s in the past - out of his life. I’m pretty glad about that.”

“Is Ruby how Sam started using?”

Dean nods. She’s cute and dark haired, and when Sammy had introduced her to Dean, he’d thought she was a safe girlfriend. Might bring Sammy out of his shell, because Ruby was witty and confident, sure of herself in ways both Sam and he never were. Sam was totally infatuated with her, and for four years she’d been a near permanent feature of Sam’s life.

“Apologies,” Cas says bluntly. “Does this make you uncomfortable?” He waits for Dean to respond but Dean doesn’t. “Of course, it’s good for us to discuss these matters. It’s why Victor encourages those close to the addict to attend.”

Still Dean doesn’t answer, so Cas says, “It’s easy to feel guilty for finding the situation difficult to handle, but it is important for us to remember how addiction may affect us as well.” He peers into Dean’s eyes. “You don’t much like this discussion, do you?”

It’s more a statement than a question so Dean only shrugs.

They stand in silence until it gets too much for Dean. “What music do you like?” he blurts out.

“I…” the question seems to stump Cas. “I’m not really - I don’t listen much to music. My father has a great affection for classical music and opera, which I enjoy. My mother is a Beatles fan.”

Dean blinks. He doesn’t listen to music? “Hold up - not even like, Pink Floyd?” Cas looks blank. “ACDC? Zeppelin, uh - BTO, CCR-”

Cas frowns. “Well, now you’re just saying letters,” he grumps.

Dean laughs loudly. “Creedence, dude. You must know Creedence?”

Cas shrugs, pressing his thick lips together.

“Dude!” Dean swaps his weight between his feet, disbelieving Cas’s total ignorance. “Everyone likes Creedence! Proud Mary, Bad Moon Rising, I Heard it on the Grapevine? They’re classics, everyone knows them!”

“I doubt underprivileged, starving orphans know of ‘CCR’,” says Cas, crossing his arms defensively.

Dean blows the air out of his nose. “That is such a smart-ass little brother things to say.”

Cas smiles suddenly, all wide and infectious with his bright teeth gleaming and his bright eyes vibrant. “I am a smart-ass little brother,” he reminds Dean.

“Yeah, well, as a bigger brother I’m gonna beat your ass,” Dean grins, hitting Cas in his middle with the back of his hand.

Cas yelps. “Hey! I’m a soldier. You try to ‘beat my ass’; I wish you luck.”

“Nah-uh, nope,” Dean shakes his head, “I was raised by a marine. A frigging marine.”

“I have five older siblings,” counters Cas, a small smile playing on his lips.

“I have -” Dean flounders. “I- I went to a public school!”

Cas’s smile grows easier. “I may have attended a highly expensive private school but boys will fight anywhere.”

They stop their discussion (flirting? is it flirting? Cas’s grin says it’s flirting, and so does the warmth in Dean’s chest) when a tall skinny kid comes out, lighting up a cigarette of his own. He moves like Sam does, like the length of his limbs are a surprise to him.

Cas starts to frown again, lines furrowing in his forehead. “Does everyone in this building smoke?”

“Oh, I’m really a social smoker,” the kid offers. “I find it helps make conversation easier. See, already conversing,” he laughs nervously.

“Sure,” says Dean, having reached the end of his own cigarette.

“You guys aren’t part of us, are you?” the kid asks.

“I come to support my brother,” says Cas.

“Yeah, uh, ditto,” Dean nods.

“Gabe’s brother, right?” The kid talks in this high voice, jigging slightly in his place. He’s skinny as shit, this kid. Dean kind of wants to take him home and fill him up and give him a good night’s sleep. “Yeah, Gabe is cool. And see! We’re talking already!” He grins gawkily and sticks out his free hand. “I’m Garth, Garth Fitzgerald the Fourth.”

“Castiel,” says Cas, grasping his hand firmly and shaking.

“Crazy ass name, dude!” Garth laughs, a slightly manic tinge to his expression. He looks to Dean.

“Dean,” he offers, and Garth’s released Cas’s hand and taken his, giving a strong shake.

“So, army huh?” he asks Cas. “My dad wanted me to enlist but I studied to be a dentist instead.”

“Yeah, too much laughing gas?” Dean jokes, but Cas and Garth give him very affronted looks.

Cas and Garth talk about the military and teeth, and Dean feels a bit left out. And more than that he feels -

No.

Yeah.

Yeah, okay he feels jealous that Cas is flashing that same smile at Garth. ‘Cause it’s a really fucking great smile, kind of goofy but Cas means it and it’s a rare smile too. He sees how rarely Cas smiles talking to other people and Dean - well, he hoped maybe that Cas smiled a bit more around him.

He goes in to find Sam, a large part of him hoping Cas misses him.

Sam’s deep in conversation with Victor but he nods at Dean, who is approaching with a coffee in each hand.

“You must be Dean,” Victor says by way of greeting to Dean as he hands the sugared, creamed coffee to Sam. “You and Sam sound very close. I’ve been meaning to say hello but never found the right time.”

“Well - hello,” Dean says, holding out his hand.

Victor shakes it. “Mechanic, huh?”

“Addiction counsellor, huh?”

Victor shrugs. “Doing what I know.”

“Same.”

Victor grins and lets go of Dean’s hand. Every week it hits Dean, the change in Victor’s face when he smiles. He’s a scary man, really. Tall, well built black man, intimidating. Dean respects him a hell of a lot.

“You been out with Cas?” asks Sam.

“Yeah,” Dean sips his coffee. “This kid Garth joined us, so I thought I’d see how my little brother’s doing,” he says, slapping Sam’s arm.

“Garth is twenty nine,” says Victor, smiling.

Dean splutters on his coffee. “Twenty nine?” he asks incredulously.

“I know,” Sam says. “Blew my mind. Like, he and Gabe, I think they’re about my age but…”

“He’s very enthusiastic for being thirty,” Dean says, watching Cas and Garth converse as they come back in, Garth’s hands gesticulating wildly.

“Twenty nine,” Sam corrects, like it’s a reflex.

“He tries hard,” Victor says, eyeing Garth with the eyes of a parent.

Sam pulls a face. “I wish that were enough,” he says quietly. Dean looks at him sharply. “I’m going for a cigarette,” Sam says quickly, and leaves before Dean can say anything.

Dean watches him go. “Hey, Victor? You’re pretty good at this stuff, huh?”

“Pretty good,” snorts Victor. “It is what I do.” There’s a moment of silence as Victor watches Dean watching Sam. Then he asks bluntly, “You want to know if he’s going to relapse?”

“My family’s pretty good at addictions. Dad quit drinking - what, five times properly. Two months is his record.”

“Your brother’s lasted a year and a half,” Victor points out fairly.

The consequences are really too high for Dean to put his faith on Sam’s self control. “And he’s still got twitchy fingers - you know how anti-smoking he was when he was a kid?”

“Sam’s doing very well,” Victor says mildly. “And we all have our vices.”

“Yeah,” Dean shakes his head and runs a hand over his mouth. He looks back out to Sam, with his hunched shoulders, the long fingers tap tap tapping. “At least studying is still one of his.”

“You’re proud of him.”

Dean frowns. “‘Course I am. He kicked it, he’s got big plans and lots of ambitions. I couldn’t have done that. No one I know could have.”

Victor nods, straightening his tie. “I’m not usually the cuddly sort but Sam’s improved a lot. I’m very proud of him. Just got to get him to talk to your father.”

“Yeah, not too sure how that’s gonna go down,” admits Dean. “Sammy and Dad, they’re too different to get along.”

“Yeah?” Victor waits for Dean to talk, looking like he’s actually interested.

Dean hesitates. “Sammy’s - easier than Dad, in a lot of ways. I guess Sammy’s got his temper. It’s kind of explosive. Don’t get in his way when he’s mad,” Dean jokes, though he can’t imagine ever being scared of Sam. “Dad’s so damn stubborn, it’s always his way or the highway. And Sam’s out for a completely different life and I’ll be damned if Dad can stop him.”

“They’re both very focused, then?”

Dean laughs bitterly. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

“My dad was like that. A stubborn, focused asshole,” Victor smiles. “Couldn’t stand the fucker.”

Dean bristles at the implications. “Hey, my dad’s not an asshole.”

Victor clears his throat and apologizes. “I meant no disrespect. I know how Sam feels about your father; I don’t mean to imply anything.”

“You sure about that?”

Victor holds his gaze. Dean drops it, even though he’s still angry, ‘cause making a scene here would really piss Sam off.

“Family can be difficult,” Victor says heavily. “But things seem to be turning around for Sam now. Might take some of the pressure off.”

Sounds like Sammy’s been sharing a lot with the group.

“And what-” Dean stops himself from arguing. “Sorry,” he mutters.

Victor laughs. “It’s been good to meet you, Dean.”

~

Great big wide blue eyes haunt Dean’s dreams, cloud his fantasies and his thoughts. Thick pink lips, strong calloused hand on his own, the dark, buzz cut hair. Cas’s stilted laugh reverberates through his head and the warmth of his hand on Dean’s arm lingers for days and days.

He’s kind of fucked.

Dean’s got a giant, gay crush on someone who’s fast becoming one of his best friends.

But it gets worse.

He meets up with Cas for a drink at a local bar. ‘Watching the game’ ostensibly, but Dean finds it hard to tear his eyes away from Cas’s. Until Cas pouts his lips and places them over his bottle - yeah, Dean can duck his gaze for that. Cas wears a blue shirt and he’s got goddamn jeans - jeans - and Dean feels stifling his usual hundred layers of plaid and khaki and henleys.

Cas astounds Dean in so many ways, how he’s always sure to give a dollar to anyone on the streets, how his hair is completely untamable, how he’s never seen any of the Star Wars movies.

“It’s like - a rite of passage!” Dean explodes. “Star Wars is -” he throws up his arms in exasperation. “Everyone’s seen it!”

“Will you stop using that phrase? I refuse to believe that in the vast population of planet Earth, every single human being has seen Star Wars,” gripes Cas, rolling his eyes in an exaggerated fashion.

“Oh my god,” Dean groans. “Stop being so fucking literal!” He finishes his second beer, and in good spirits goes to get another for the both of them. Returning with the bottles, Cas isn’t there, so Dean waits, sipping at his beer and totally not checking out the hot dude at the entrance.

Cas returns a few minutes later, with pink cheeks and beautiful bright eyes.

“Apologies,” he says, taking a mouthful of beer. “My girlfriend called.”

Dean chokes on his beer. “Girlfriend,” he says weakly. “Right.”

It sinks deep in his stomach, a heavy weight that drags down his mood. It’s suddenly very hard to smile, and he feels so stupidly put out like - like there was a chance Cas was into him.

Hah.

It takes Dean a minute, but he remembers how to act politely and maturely in these situations. “What’s her name?”

“Meg,” Cas replies.

“What’s she like?”

Cas smiles, and it’s a smile Dean’s never seen before. It’s fond and loving and it makes Dean feel bitter and cruel. “Meg - Meg is…” Cas grins, unable to stop himself. “Unusual, I think would be the word. When I first met her - I thought her callous. And cold.”

“She sounds great,” says Dean sarcastically.

Cas’s face softens. “She is.” There’s a pause. “And you, have you…”

“No - I - no,” Dean says, getting flustered. “I like my freedom, man,” he laughs uneasily.

Cas frowns. “I wouldn’t say I don’t have freedom. I enjoy being with Meg. It is time I want to spend.”

“Yeah I - it’s an expression,” Dean flounders, feeling like an asshole.

He’s paying for gas later when a gay porn magazine catches his eye and he can’t stop fucking looking at it. He’s blushing furiously by the time he hands over the money and thanks the attendant, barely makes it to the car before he’s in a real state. He scratches up his arms and turns the music up, trying to steady his breathing.

Dean blames it on the beer.

It just hits him sometimes, the panic. What would Dad do, what would he say, if he knew Dean likes dudes. What would anyone would say, ‘cause he likes them, sure, but he likes women too. He’s bisexual, he thinks, but is that just a cover?

He’s okay that he jerks off to thoughts of other cocks, but isn’t okay with other people knowing. The odd lay in a gay bar is fine, as long as he goes at night and gets a bus and is absolutely sure that no one he knows will be there.

So generally, he’s cool with his sexuality. Kinda. Like, if he doesn’t dwell on it and as long as it’s deep and hidden and his.

Anyway, Dean wants kids. He can ignore the part of him that wants to fuck and be fucked by a dude in favour of settling down with a woman and having kids. He loves kids, they’re easy and full of love. Poke ‘em in the cheeks and they smile, poke your own cheeks and they laugh their squidgy little butts off. A spade is a spade with a kid, until you tell them the spade’s actually a super secret spaceship for rats, and that’s why Dad likes to pull it out when they’ve got rats, and Dad is super awesome helping out the rats.

Kids are pretty much Dean’s only ambition.

He tries to explain why he loves kids to Cas one night. The bar trips are becoming more and more regular, a weekly event. Cas ‘understands the appeal of children but finds them perpetually sticky’.

“And terrifying,” Cas adds, nodding earnestly.

“They’re sticky, yeah,” Dean concedes, “but it’s not that bad-”

“I looked after my brother Michael’s daughter once. She watched television for two hours straight without moving, and she came up to me and took my hand and it was sticky. How was it sticky? What did she do to make it sticky?”

“Sammy used to eat so much paste, I thought it came out of his skin,” Dean offers, and he grins when Cas chuckles.

It’s easy, with Cas. Sure, Dean’s got to be careful with his touchily - Dean’s a touchy-feely kind of guy. He gives Sam shit for getting lovey and sappy when he’s drunk but really, Dean’s so much worse.

They’re giggling by the time they leave the bar, Dean’s arm over Cas’s shoulder and Cas is very insistent that they both get cabs home; Dean’s car can be collected in the morning. He’s right to request it; Dean wakes up with a blue knee from whacking it on the door of the bathroom. Doesn’t even remember it.

Lisa swings by the garage, late into the afternoon. She sits on the hood of the car opposite the one Dean’s under, her feet swinging closer and closer to the jack that keeps Dean safe.

“I’m not gonna kick it,” she says irritably when Dean flinches again at the movement of her feet.

“I’m not scared,” Dean retorts, sliding out from under the car.

“Come on, Winchester. You’re shit scared; that was a full body tremor I saw.”

Lisa might be the only person who knows. She was Dean’s second proper girlfriend, back when he was nineteen, and he’d really liked her. Like, I wanna spend the rest of my life with you like her. But Lisa… Lisa had kissed him and said she loved him very much, but it wasn’t working out. Before that though, they’d watched a lot of gay porn together. Dean tries to make sure she and Charlie stay apart; the both of them knowing, the both of them talking about him, it makes him feel sick.

“Are you hungover?” she asks, as Dean trips on his tools again. “Come on, Dean, I want out.”

“Why don’t you go out with some of your friends?” Dean dodges her other question; Cas is his business.

“You’re my friend, doofus,” says Lisa,  thumping his shoulder.

“Ouch! Other friends!”

“Dean, I’ve not seen you in ages,” she wheedles.

Lisa gets her way. Lisa always gets her way, and Reggie and Gordon join them. It’s the Roadhouse first, where they pick up Benny, and proceed to get blindingly drunk. He throws up in a bush, ends up with arms looped around Gordon and Lisa’s shoulders, bumbling on about how proud he is of Sammy. He’s ungraciously thrown onto the couch at Gordon’s, where he passes out and dreams of chapped lips and blue eyes.

And then his phone rudely buzzes him awake, at fuck ass o clock. He answers it with a grunt.

“Did I wake you?” says an indistinguishable voice.

Dean grunts again. His head is spinning and he thinks he just might hurl.

“I was checking that you were - uh, okay.” says the voice.

He knows it. The voice is very important, it’s not Sam or Bobby, or Dad….

Cas. Cas is calling. “Cas?” Dean tries to say, but his mouth is sticky and dry and it’s more of a moan than a word. He clears his throat. “Cas?”

“Yes?” replies Cas, bemused.

“Cas,” Dean repeats.

“Um. Yes. Dean, is everything okay?”

“Uhuh,” Dean says thickly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Oh…” Cas says, “Do you not remember yesterday?”

Yesterday? Crap. He sits bolt upright. He’s got vague memories of Cas’s lips and a lot of loose talking.

“You may wish to read your texting history. I wanted to ensure that you got home safely,” says Cas. He sounds warm and comforting, and his deep voice actually comforts his head. That’s a first.

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean says hoarsely. “I’m good, thanks.”

“Drink some coffee and have some protein. And Dean, hydrate,” Cas says solemnly. “I hope you feel better soon.”

“Thanks.”

Cas hangs up.

Dean slips back down in his couch, and means to check his phone and see the time but somehow he slips back to sleep. At least, until a hand slaps his head. He’s bolt upright again, looking at Gordon’s unimpressed face and - yes, he’s actually going to be sick.

Dean jumps up and sways on his feet before rushing to the kitchen sink, where an unholy volume of liquid sprays from his mouth.

Gordon watches him, his nose wrinkling in disgust. “If there’s any chunks in that, you’re cleaning them out.”

Dean spits out some bile as a response. He rinses out his mouth straight from the tap and washes the muck away, before he slumps back down on the couch, opening up his cellphone to see what prompted Cas’s call.

_sammys gna go 2 stanford_ is sent to Cas close to midnight. 

_I don’t understand._ is Cas's reply, fit with perfect punctuation. 

_reel ducking smart he is_ Dean replied.

_Sam? I’m aware, yes._

_i drunk i think_

_Yes, I think you might be. Eat something._

_cant_

_At least have some water_ texted Cas. Sensible fucker. 

_ur awesome_

_Thank you, Dean. I think the same of you._

_no but u r_

_Stop drinking._

And then there’s four messages from Cas over a period of a few hours. _Drink some water_ and _A_ _re you okay?_ and _I hope you’ve gone to bed_ , and _Call me when you wake up._

Dean cringes. Hey, at least he didn’t admit his giant crush.

Gordon hands him a cup of coffee. It’s too strong and too hot for his sensitive stomach, but it’s perfect. Slightly milky, slightly sweetened, not how he’d usually have it but when he’s hungover, Dean’ll take anything.

“So,” says Gordon nonchalantly, sipping his coffee. “You thought the bartender last night was cute.”

Dean freezes. “Uh,” he clears his throat. “Yeah, she was cute. Cute as -”

“Bartender was a guy.”

Dean can’t see for a minute; gray swims over his vision and there’s a buzzing in his ears. Maybe he’s dreaming? But no, his hands are shaking and hot coffee is scalding his belly as it drips down. He places the coffee on the table and laughs shakily, verging on hysteria.

“Oh - uh, I was fuckin with you, man,” but Dean hardly hears the words over his own heartbeat.

“Right,” says Gordon smoothy. Everything’s smooth with Gordon; the way he changes a tire, the way he talks to a frustrated customer, the way he singlehandedly destroys Dean’s life. “You didn’t sound like you were joking.”

Sweat drips down Dean’s back. He vividly remembers that Gordon does not like Charlie, does not like what she represents. He doesn’t like Sam for his addictions, doesn’t like Charlie for her sexuality. He’s eying Dean the same way. Dean stands up and grabs his cell, patting his pockets for keys and wallet. Dean stammers out a thanks, hopes to sound somewhat intimidating but fuck that, and he’s out the door and sprinting down the street before Gordon replies.


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emetophobic warning and also some food stuff and kind of self harm I suppose. I know, I know. I'm such a light fluffy writer!! Thanks to Ashi!!!! xx

With the thudding of his heart loud in his ears, with fire in his legs, Dean runs as fast as he can. And he runs fast, but there’s a definite nausea in his belly. Rising, rising, he’s almost choking on it by the time he stops and bends over and pukes up what little there is in his stomach into a bush.

Shit. He leans over, resting his hands on his thighs and spits out a great wad of bile and alcohol and whatever, sweat dripping off his face, amulet swinging down and threatening to chip his tooth.

Gordon knows. Gordon, the guy they all know to be a hell of a homophobe.

Shit. Dean's dizzy and if he could throw up again he would; he retches into the bush and shivers. This is... shit. Dean digs his fingers into his arms and tries not to think of last night, tries not to think of the curl of Gordon's lip, the disgust in Dad's face... 

It’s a good hour’s walk home from here, and Dean feels too delicate to attempt a sprint again. It’s safe when he gets home; no one’s around and there’s meatloaf and pie and bread rolls and chips and butter and when he sprints up to the bathroom it all comes up so easily.

Dean’s tense and shaking when he collapses on his bed. His walkman is the only thing which can help in this sort of situation, so he plays music so loudly it hurts.

God, he ate a block of butter. A whole block of it, shit, Bobby’s gonna notice that’s gone.

Still, it’s up now. It’s not sitting in him, heavy and dense and disgusting. Not like Gordon’s face, lip pulled in distaste.

He scratches at his arm, trying to escape from Gordon’s expression. There’s a bottle of whisky under his bed and it’s only - hell, it’s not even noon. Dean sips it anyway, revelling in the burn. He splutters as it trickles down, wary that he’s still kind of nauseous, and it doesn’t even work. He sits there in his self-loathing, bringing up blood on his forearm, his hatred rendering him immobile.

Dean’s exhausted by the time he finally moves, face itchy from the salt in his tears, just so slightly buzzed from the alcohol. He scrubs at his face in the bathroom, trying to look a little more human, and goes down into the kitchen for some cold water.

Dean drains one glass and refills it, and then he promptly drops it when Bobby enters the room.

“Shit,” he mutters as a cold spray of water and glass hits his bare feet.

“Don’t move, I’ll get it,” says Bobby, coming over and pulling up the big pieces of glass. There’s a small scratch on Dean’s foot, bleeding steadily onto the floor, but nothing major. He daps at it with a  grubby dishcloth, until Bobby tuts at him and passes over a handful of clean tissues.

“Here,” he says, filling another glass and handing it to Dean. “You look awful.” Bobby’s eyes roll over Dean and he sighs heavily when he sees the state of Dean’s arm. “Son…”

Dean slurps his water noisily, looking away from Bobby.

“Hey - “ he protests as Bobby takes his arm, but Bobby just runs the tap water over it.

“You do this with your fingers?” asks Bobby.

Dean nods.

“I’m gonna clean this out properly.” Bobby grips Dean’s arm tightly. “Kid, what are you doing?”

Dean looks at the torn skin on his forearm.

It hurts, Bobby’s brusque cleaning, though not as much as the reminder of how much of a fucking burden he is. He’s fucking twenty six, and here’s Bobby clearing up the scrape on his arm like he’s a little kid. Dean half expects him to pull out the old Batman band aids.

“You wanna talk?” Bobby says after he’s cleaned up Dean’s arm, wiping away the moisture with a dry, clean towel.

“Sure. You get the face masks and I’ll get the nail polish,” Dean says, grinning hollowly.

Bobby releases him. “I’ll cook tonight, if you want.”

“Nah, I want to,” says Dean. He likes the routine of cooking; with recipes it’s a bit of a numbers game, which he enjoys less but Dean gets the ingredients. He knows what works and what doesn’t and has a decent eye for guessing quantities.

Bobby nods, keeping his worried eyes on Dean. “Go take a shower and have some coffee and I’ll give you a hand.”

Dean feels a bit more human after the shower. The grogginess and hangover are more or less gone, the pressure behind his eyes released.

They make chicken pot pie, chatting about their weeks. Dad comes in during, settles down on the couch and asks why Dean looks like crap. He fills them in on his night before, admitting how his memory is hazy and leaving out Cas and Gordon and the bartender.

The front door swings open by the time the pie is in the oven, and Sam walks in looking like a drowned rat from his volunteering place. He nods at Dad and bounces on his feet as he regales them with stories from the old people he’s heard during the day, his cheeks a healthy pink and he’s ignoring the scar on his hand completely.

It’s always a tossup, with Sam. He’s told Dean and everyone else that he’s addict, that he’ll always be an addict, and there will always be the good days and the bad days. The worst of his days, where Sam finds the loss of his drug so painful, so destructive, that Dean’s almost got to strap him down.

His and Dean’s door locks. One time, one of the worst days of Dean’s life, Sam was insistent that he had to be locked in his room, Dean with him to stop him climbing out of the window or hurting himself, and Sam had eventually passed out on the floor after screaming and crying and lashing out at Dean.

But the bad days are getting further and further apart.

Sam giggles and teases Bobby about Ellen, Dad joining in.

On Sam’s good days, he’s the glue between them all.

Him, the argumentative, ex-junkie. When Dean allows himself to be Sam’s brother, the jealousy eats him up inside, like now.

He heaves a sigh. Shit, he’s tired.

~

Dean’s even more flustered than usual for a drink with Cas, because Cas has had the most fantastic notion that it’s imperative that Dean and Meg meet. He’s “certain” they’ll get along, and was so thrilled about the idea that Dean couldn’t outright say no. And hey, he’s got to work out his competition. Cas had wanted to go all out - dinner, but that sounded all a bit formal for Dean’s liking, plus Cas might actually notice when Dean’s got difficulty choosing what to eat, when he goes to the bathroom and returns clammy.

Instead, they go to the usual bar. Dean’s slightly late, as he usually is, and he sees them before they see him. Meg stands a bit away from Cas, and she’s cute, Dean can see that. Dark hair, pale skin, a heart shaped face…. She’s a lot smaller than Cas, who at that moment leans down to kiss her temple.

Dean’s heart sinks as it turns into a proper kiss.

He takes a deep breath and tells himself to grow the fuck up and stop being so pathetic, and walks in with his head held high. What he really wants to do is hug Cas (actually what he really wants to do is fuck Cas, but not gonna happen) but instead he claps Cas on the shoulder safely.

How does he greet Meg? Is he meant to kiss her cheek? Dean dithers but Meg makes it easy for him and holds out her hand.

“I’m Meg,” she says in a rich voice.

“Dean,” he says, dropping her hand quickly. She looks him up and down; Dean feels rather like he’s sitting a test. Finally, she seems to make a judgement. “Nice to meet you, Dean-o,” she says.

Dean frowns at the nickname.

“Would you both like beers?” asks Cas politely. They nod at him and he waves the bartender over, leaving Meg and Dean alone to find a table. They sit opposite each other, Meg with her leather-coated arms crossed and her lips pursed, and Dean with his own leather-coated arms laid out across the back of the booth. It’s warm inside, and usually when Dean wears his father’s old jacket he has to take it off, but they’ve got a stalemate going. Dean won’t take off his leather until Meg takes off hers, but it seems that, like Cas, she doesn’t get affected by dumb stuff like the temperature.

Dean opens his mouth to make conversation but Meg’s still staring at him so he closes his mouth. He tries twice more but holy shit, Meg won’t look away.

“Hey, buddy!” Dean cries out gratefully when Cas returns with drinks, sitting down next to Meg. Cas frowns, confused, and then gives Meg an exasperated look as Dean drinks a quarter of his beer in one.

Meg finally looks away from Dean to tease Cas for having white wine, fondly calling him ‘Clarence’.

“Cas tells me you’re a mechanic,” Meg drawls, slotting comfortably under Cas’s arm - hell, they’re cuddling while wearing jackets, in the warm bar.

“Yeah,” Dean replies, losing; he takes off the leather and leaves it on the back of his chair.

Cas politely waits until Dean’s seated again before he prompts, “A good mechanic,” but Dean scoffs.

“You don’t know that.”

Cas smiles warmly, the kind that makes Dean feel all fuzzy and loved inside. “I’m sure you are.”

Dean looks away from him, back to Meg, who’s staring at him yet again. They’re an eerie couple, with the whole staring and not blinking thing. “How’d you guys meet?” he asks weakly.

Meg groans. “He’s gonna get all soppy now,” she says, rolling her eyes at Dean.

“We were in college,” Cas begins, squeezing Meg’s hand.

“He was the antisocial, tortured poet and one day he spilled one of his stupid chai lattes all over me. What can a girl do?”

“Apparently it isn’t a traditional wooing technique,” says Cas, “but it worked.”

“What did you major in?” Dean asks, not knowing who he’s asking.

“Premed,” replies Meg. “I’m a doctor.”

“Wow. Must have been hard work, huh?”

Meg shrugs. “We had some pretty hardcore study dates,” she nudges Cas in the side with her elbow.

“I majored in English,” Cas says, looking at Dean.

"English, huh?" Dean asks, surprised, considering that English to the army isn't a usual pattern.

"Literature is the purest of human arts," Cas replies, his eyes glowing. "At least, that is how I consider it."

"We've got a whole fucking library at home," Meg rolls her eyes. "Makes my allergies flare up."

"I have some very old works," Cas explains. "My family are fortunate enough to possess a lot of money, and I am the only of my siblings who enjoyed our library."

"And the whole of it is slowly moving into our tiny fucking apartment," Meg grumbles.

They seem very happy together, very fond of each other. Dean hates it. Meg starts to tell them of the patients she's been seeing today, all the fun stories and rowdy little kids, and it's fun until Cas leaves for the bathroom.

And then, as before, it turns very awkward.

Meg takes another swig of her beer. "No partner then, Dean-o?"

The way she says his name grates on Dean. He likes Meg sure enough but for that - well, that and she's in a long term relationship with his crush.

"Nope," Dean replies smoothly, taking a gulp of his own. Nearly done, it's probably Dean's round next.

"Cas thinks everyone who isn't him should get along with everyone else," Meg says abruptly.

It throws Dean off. "Huh?" he says, eloquent as always.

Meg starts to pull the label off her bottle. "He's kind of socially awkward, if you didn't know," she adds with a quirk of his eyebrows. "He doesn't get certain things. His family thought once maybe he was autistic, which is dumb because they don't have a fucking clue what that is. But anyway, Cas has this notion it's him who's the problem, that everyone else around him can and will be best friends."

"Why are you telling me this?" Dean asks, intimidated. "You don't think we get along?"

Meg shrugs. "I like you well enough, Dean. Anyway, I think we've got a lot in common. You fix cars, I fix people. Match made in heaven."

"Right," Dean says sarcastically. "They're exactly the same thing."

"I didn't say that. You telling me that when you hear a car that don't sound too healthy, you don't start to diagnose it?"

"You do that?"

Meg smiles and her gaze drops to Dean's hand. He looks down, self-conscious, but all that's there is the cuts and scars on his knuckles, where his teeth knock against them when he does his thing.

Oh. That's what she's looking at.

Come on, no. She can't know what they're from.

Dean slides his hand off the table.

"I can never know for sure, but I'm usually pretty accurate."

There's a leveling in Meg's gaze; a challenge, and Dean feels very, very uncomfortable. He's sweating through his henley, which is kind of gross, and drinks his beer to cool and calm him. He hates the way she surveys him - and so fucking what if she knows. He's not skinny, he can do what he likes to try and fucking 'keep his slender figure', it ain't any of her fucking business.

At least she's not noticed how he's been looking at Cas.

And thank god, thank the angels and thank every fucking thing, Cas returns with more drinks.

"Come on," Dean says, already patting his jacket for his wallet. "It's my round," he protests but Cas waves him off and hands him the beer.

"Baby, you're gonna kill me," Meg groans as she takes the beer.

Cas simply kisses her and Dean has to look away.

"It's only your second beer," Cas reminds her.

"But I had a drink or two after work, and I'm working tomorrow again!"

It actually makes for a good evening. Sure, Dean's not Meg's biggest fan but that's mostly because he's got a huge thing for her boyfriend. She's actually a good laugh and takes utterly no crap, which he respects.

Hell, Dean even agrees to meet up with them again, to go to their place for Cas's birthday in two week's time. He leaves before they do, wary that if he stays much longer he's gonna get drunk and not be able to drive home. And, Meg and Cas get a bit too lovey after some alcohol, it seems. How Dean wants to be the one Cas slips his arms around, nudge little kisses into his neck.

Dean goes to another of Sam's NA meetings, but it's not as great as usual. Sam's working himself into a state, because Gabe isn't there and he was meant to be. He becomes convinced that Gabe's relapsed and worries his hand relentlessly while Dean does his best to placate them. Dean and the rest of the group, because Sam and Gabe are still considered new members for the group, still the babies and most likely to relapse.

Sam actually gets so agitated that Dean takes him outside during the meeting for a cigarette and a brotherly talking to.

"I can't - God, Dean, what if he has relapsed? He was always so much better than me, if he fell I could too!"

Dean pulls Sam's hands apart and places a lit cigarette between his fingers.

"Here. Now, breathe, slow and easy."

Sam does - but it's through the filter. Dean kind of meant breathe clean first time and then the cigarette, but he knows what wonders they do to him when he's panicked.

"You want me to call Cas, check everything's okay?" Dean asks, like he's not been dying to hear Cas's voice since they entered the room late and not found him sitting in his trenchcoat.

Sam nods.

Dean's actually memorized Cas's number - accidentally, kind of - but he's careful to scroll through and find Cas under his contacts first.

Cas answers almost on the first ring, sounding distant. "Dean?"

"Hey, Cas. Listen, Sam's worried as fuck, is Gabe okay?"

"Oh..." Yeah, Cas is definitely distracted. He hears some bustling on the other end and Cas telling someone to clear off. "Gabe is fine, my apologies for not telling the group. We're having a - uh, 'family situation'," Cas says, and Dean can imagine him doing quotation marks with his fingers on the other end. "But we will have our drink," Cas says firmly.

"Sounds great, I hope it's all okay there," Dean says, and Cas hangs up.

Before they even get to say bye. He looks at the phone, hurt.

Probably added that thing about the drink to just be polite. Figures. Perhaps Meg had clued in about everything - maybe she told Cas to stay away from him.

Dean shakes his head to clear it, 'cause he's getting unnecessarily maudlin and wrapped up in his own self loathing, as he always is, selfish bastard.

"Gabe's fine," he tells Sam. "Family situation, Cas said."

"Oh," says Sam, his left hand curled into a ball.

It occurs to Dean that Sam could be so heated up about this because he's been tempted by relapse recently. "Sammy, you're doing okay, right?"

"Yeah," Sam replies, a touch too quickly.

Dean runs his hand over his mouth. "Are you sure?"

Sam exhales gently. "I just - it's been a difficult week."

Dean nods. He's seen how tired Sam's been recently.

"I need to - I need to do something. Maybe I'll go for a walk or a run or something."

Dean waits with him while Sam finishes his cigarette - not that that takes long. "You okay to go back in there?" he asks as Sam stubs out his cigarette.

They go back in and rejoin the meeting, but Dean keeps a close eye on Sam, has to slap his hands apart a few times. There's no fucking way that Sam's gonna speak today, he's anxious now and it can take him a while to calm down, and without Cas Dean doesn't want to stay either. They go straight home.

Sam goes straight up to their room, which kind of sucks. Dean almost follows him up, make sure he's okay but sometimes Sam likes to be left alone, and showing that Dean trusts him would probably be something Sam would find beneficial.

He keeps a closer eye than usual on Sam over the next few weeks, dragging him out to spend time with Dean's friends, sending Bobby upstairs to check on him (and getting a 'I'm your boss, not the other way around) and texting Sam every free minute.

Sam only refuses one thing, which surprises Dean 'cause he really is stifling his little brother right now. Sam is adamant about not joining Dean and Cas for their bar trips, and Dean's not sure if he's upset or relieved. He's at the stage now that he really wants Sam and Cas to get along, but he also wants Cas alone to himself. It's nice that he can talk to Cas about Sam when he's not around - they talk a lot about Sam and Gabe, actually, about their hopes and worries for their brothers.

But, as Cas never fails to point out, they can't relate entirely. Dean worries far too much about Sam, which makes sense because his life is looking after Sam, from the minute his mother gave him to Dean to hold and tell him the importance of being a big brother. Cas worries about Gabe too, but it's different. He has little responsibility for Gabe and finds a way to compartmentalize his concern.

One subject they have yet to breach is that of their parents. Cas hears about John Winchester through what Sam chooses to share to the group, which isn't much. Sam and Dean have never shared with the outside world the extent of how fucked up their father is; the alcoholism is embarrassing and No One Else's Business. And Dean assumes Sam hardly mentions Mom, because why would he? He doesn't even remember her.

Gabe doesn't speak up much at meetings and Cas is private about his family, so Dean doesn't know anything about the parents, other than that they're stifling.

What Dean does know is that Cas's father is in the army also, that he's the one who wanted all of his sons to enlist. Cas tells him once it had sparked off an argument with Anna, Cas's sister, who wanted to enlist also but was reminded of her duties ‘as a woman’. It sounded like a painful argument and something Cas didn't want to dwell on for long, so Dean had changed the subject quickly.

Yet now, after a few beers (wine is something Cas indulges in rarely, only for special occasions) Cas informs Dean he has deployment soon. It's hanging over his head and Dean can see how the thought changes his mood, for his shoulders are stiffer than usual and the usual brightness of his eyes is dimmed.

Cas sighs heavily, looking into his beer bottle. "I'm not sure it is for me," he admits, shoulders relaxing like it's a big weight off to even say the words out loud.

Dean doesn't know what to say; he'd never figured Cas for a soldier. "Why did you enlist?"

Cas's brow furrows, as if he'd never considered the question. "I was always going to," he says slowly, thinking it out. "My eldest brother Michael enlisted and did very well. Lucy joined shortly after, but she left for - she left," he cuts himself off. "When Gabe refused and Anna and my father had the argument.... it seemed to make everything a lot simpler if I chose to join."

"Thought you said your old man didn't want your sisters in? How come Lucy did?" Dean asks.

Cas looks up at him, surprised again. "Oh. My sister Lucy is transgender. This was before she told my father."

Dean blinks in surprise, imagining - well... 

"I hope you don't share what's on your mind," Cas snaps suddenly, an ugly expression on his face. 

Dean blushes and sits back from the table. "I'm not - I wouldn't." He forgets sometimes that he can be read like a book. 

Cas starts to frown at his drink with an enraged set to his jaw so Dean changes the subject.

"So that's Michael, Lucy, Anna, Gabe, you and?"

"Hester. Hester is my younger sister," Cas nods. "She's very like my mother. Her children are very affectionate," he adds, not quite without distaste.

The conversation falls silent as Cas ponders his job and family.

"I get it," Dean clears his throat when Cas looks up at him, "the uh - joining to be easier?" he waves a hand in a circular motion. "My dad was a marine. I used to want to join, thought it'd make him real proud of me but I guess life got in the way."

"I couldn't imagine you as a marine," says Cas thoughtfully.

"That a compliment?"

Dean means it as a joke but Cas looks at him with seriousness. "Yes," he says after a while. Dean's cheeks darken.

~

The next time he sees Cas, it's for his birthday.

Birthdays mean a birthday present and a card and all that shit. He asks around as best as he can - Jo says buy him a tie the perfect color of his eyes and Dean's embarrassingly close to saying he's already got one. He slaps the back of Jo's head instead, asks her why she's not a goddamn comedian. Ellen suggests a bottle of wine, which would be great if he had a fucking clue what wine Cas drinks. Bobby simply shrugs. "Bottle of whisky," he suggests halfheartedly. Cas isn't a big whisky fan; he'll happily do shots but has never wanted to have whisky with Dean. He doesn't even see Dad to ask him, but as usual it's Sam who comes up trumps.

"What about a nice edition of a book he likes?" Sam suggests, keeping his head tucked into a thousand page book on Russian history, the nerd.

Dean considers. Does he even know what books Cas likes?

"You could always find a classic book, or a decent poet," says Sam. "Like, someone traditional." He thinks for a minute, chewing on his pen. "Maybe Yeats or something, everyone likes Yeats. Or hey, get him a copy of something really old like the Epic of Gilgamesh, if he doesn't have it he'd probably appreciate it. Or the Odyssey or Ulysses, actually. I mean, they're all well known but also kind of safe."

Dean's doubtful. "Aren't fancy books kind of expensive?"

"Yeah, I guess," says Sam.

"He's just a friend, I usually don't even buy gifts," says Dean.

Sam gives him a look. "Yeah, you don't usually," he says meaningfully.

"What's that supposed to mean?" asks Dean.

Sam rolls his eyes and goes back to his book.

Dean finds it in a thrift store. A small book, "The Illustrated Works of Milton." He flicks through it, because it rings a bell, and most of the book is a poem called Paradise Lost. He calls Sam straight away. 

"Dude, Paradise Lost?"

"What, for Cas?"

"Yeah. That's pretty good, right?"

"Yeah, Dean," and Dean can hear Sam rolling his eyes at his uncultured big brother. "It's pretty good. More than pretty good."

Dean buys it, 'cause it's small and wrapped in green leather and in good shape. He wraps it neatly and looks at it for a while before he goes out again to the local drugstore, finding a copy of A New Hope in the bargain bucket. Wraps that up too and places them carefully under his bed.

Dean's nervous as fuck before Cas's party, knowing only Cas and Meg, and he doesn't keep anything down all day to give him the additional confidence boost of a food-free stomach. It's the only thing that finally pushes him out of the door, after Sam's helped him iron and wear his best jeans and nice blue shirt, grabbing at the last minute Cas's gift. Like the whole food crap was a necessary part of his day to make him a half decent human being, but he doesn't dwell on it because he's pulling up at Cas's apartment building.

Cas and Meg's, he reminds himself.

The party is a subdued affair. Meg greets him at the door looking beautiful in a tight black dress, bearing a glass of white wine.

"Dean," she smiles, "I'm so glad you made it."

Unsure to whether she's teasing him or not, Dean nods at her and she invites him in. "Beer? Wine?" she offers.

"Uh - beer. Please," he adds, remembering his manners.

Cas comes into the foyer bit and he takes Dean's breath away. He's got this tight fitting gray shirt with a dark blue tie and a black waistcoat over, tighter black pants than he usually wears. And he's beaming at Dean, leans in for a hug which Dean tries to savor.

"Hello, Dean."

"Happy birthday," says Dean, offering his badly wrapped gift.

"Thank you," Cas says sincerely. He opens it then and there, carefully peeling the Scotch tape off the Christmas paper.

"We didn't have any birthday paper," Dean explains, rubbing the back of his neck.

Cas unwraps his present and smiles up at Dean. "It's perfect, thank you," and he hugs Dean again.

"Dude," Dean tries not to inhale the smell of his hair, "it's only Star Wars. It's like a -" but he can't think of the word because Cas is letting him go, but in doing so his hands rest on Dean's waist.

"Come," says Cas, reaching out to touch Dean's arm. "Meet my friends."

They enter a tall room, with a smooth dark wooden table and a bunch of couples seated around it. Cas introduces him to them but Dean's not concentrating; he's looking at the smooth granite of the work surfaces, at the big windows and the huge fridge by the fancy cooker.

"Nice place," he says, trying not to gape at it all. And Meg said it was small.

"Thanks," Meg hands him a beer. "It does the job."

They don’t even use it that night; in the room behind the kitchen there’s a bunch of caterers and service staff. Dean sits where he's told, and he's acutely aware of how removed he is from Cas's life, listening to his friends converse. Most of them have similarly weird names - he's pretty sure a lot of them are related to Cas actually. They're all very sophisticated compared to what Dean knows. Sure, they start off drinking pretty fancy beers but it's red wine through the whole meal. Dean's not a big wine fan; he sips from his huge delicate glass - seriously, you could fit an entire bottle into that thing - and tries not to wrinkle his nose. Doesn't seem to succeed; the dude opposite him in a v-neck snickers behind his own glass. He's far away from Cas too, who sits head of the table with Meg on his left and some big guy on his right. Dean's got V Neck and Blondie next to him.

V Neck makes inappropriate jokes for the first course, which Dean picks at - salmon, ew.

The blonde girl next to him is called Rachel and had asked that everyone link hands before they ate, giving Cas the opportunity to say grace. Her hand was smooth in Dean's. He's never linked hands and said grace before a meal for as long as Dean can remember, but Cas seems perfectly comfortable with the concept. Meg catches his eye and pulls a face at him, surprising Dean.

Rachel works as a secretary and whips out her purse with pictures of her two children before they've finished the starter, not that Dean minds because he likes talking about kids.

"I worked in a preschool for a summer," he admits to her, taking a small sip of his wine.

"How noble of you," says V Neck sarcastically. Dude's British, of course he's a prick.

"Ignore Balthazar. He doesn't know how to act in polite company," Rachel says. It's a very familiar thing to say; Dean wonders if they've got history. "You have children of your own?"

"Nah. Got a little brother though. I helped look after him when he was a kid."

Everyone at the table has a high paid job and lives in the fancy parts of town, in beautiful sounding houses with perfect spouses and children. Except for Balthazar, who earns even higher and lives alone, and to say Dean feels inadequate is one hell of an understatement.

There's a pause between the starter and the main, where Cas goes back into the kitchen to clear something with the caterers. Dean jumps up from his chair, hoping to get a word in with Cas.

"Dean," Cas smiles as Dean enters the behind the scenes area. "Can I get you anything?" He's got the warm, approachable face of a host, unlike any expression Dean's familiar with. He's put off straight away, feeling a fool for running after him.

"Yeah. Great place, man," Dean says.

"Thank you. I hope you're enjoying the food," Cas replies.

"Great. Yeah."

Cas peers at him with his head tilted and goes to the side of the room, gesturing for Dean to follow.

"I hope I've not made you uncomfortable with my guests," Cas says, frowning slightly.

Dean waves it off. "Nah, it's great."

"I'm aware as a host I should be making all of my guests as comfortable as possible. I would like to talk later," Cas leans in towards Dean. "I don't always find my guests invigorating," he mutters guiltily.

"Yeah... they seem kind of different to you and Meg," says Dean, trying to be as diplomatic as possible.

Cas nods. "I wonder that perhaps I might be suited to different people. Although, Balthazar is one of my very good friends."

"Balthazar, right..."

"He can be difficult to get used to," says Cas, smirking. "Still. He's a good friend. Shall we go back?" He sweeps his hand in a dramatic gesture towards the door.

"Yeah. Hey - thanks for inviting me," Dean says quickly, and somehow without really meaning to, his lips find Cas's cheek.

He pulls back, face bright red. "I - er," Dean stammers.

Cas, however, is unperturbed. "If there's anyone I would have coming to my birthday..."

He leaves Dean to finish the sentence, but as they rejoin the party and Dean seats himself, watching Cas again... Dean could be imagining it, but Cas seems more relaxed, more like the Cas Dean knows.

The main course is probably the most beautiful meal Dean's ever had, and the wine flows freely and he's pretty tipsy by the time dessert comes out, served with coffees.

Dean half expects for the gentlemen to be invited to a smoking room for cigars and brandy, but it doesn't happen. Cas disappears again and opera music starts to filter through the room. Dean's never enjoyed the sounds of opera, not that he's had much exposure, but it hits something in him. It feels good, it sounds good. It suits Cas too, with his eyes all bright and Meg happily at his side...

No room for Dean there.

Dean listens to Balthazar poke fun at a big guy down the table and Dean finds himself choking with mirth into his wine, despite himself.

Cas appears at his shoulder, trying to take him somewhere for the second time that evening. "I've got something to show you," he says, touching Dean's arm.

Dean rises and follows him to another room and this room... Sammy would love it. The bookcases extend right to the ceiling with a mixture of old and new books, and there's an old record player in the center of the room, connected to some expensive looking equipment. There's just a small box of records beside it, but the whole thing is smooth and wooden.

"Wow," says Dean, taking in the dark wooden floor and cream colored walls, the expensive looking artwork on the walls.

"It's my sanctuary," Cas says. "Although..." he stops what he's about to say.

"What?" Dean asks.

"It's... One thing I have always wanted, more than anything," Cas says, a faraway look on his face. "I want a garden."

"A garden?" Dean releases his breath. "Woah, I thought it'd be something like... I don't know, a wine cellar? An opera singer of your own?"

"You mock all you want, Dean. It's very important to me," Cas says, but he's smiling.

"Sorry. Why don't you move?"

Cas sighs. "Meg thinks it's too much of a hassle, living in a proper house. I hoped we could get a greenhouse or a rooftop garden, but Meg fell in love with this place."

Speaking of, the door swings open and Meg comes in, her eyebrow raised. "We have more than one guest, Clarence," she says irritably.

Cas drops his head, abashed. "Sorry. I - of course." He walks over and kisses Meg softly on the lips. Meg looks at Dean through the kiss and he blushes, feeling chided.

Cas hugs him when he leaves later, thanking Dean again for his gift.

From the day of the party onwards, Dean and Cas have this new connection. It’s like they have a hundred in-jokes, Dean’ll smile during an NA meeting and Cas will catch his eye and smile too, like they’ve their own little club. Like it’s just Dean and Cas in the world, when Cas chuckles at his own awful jokes and Dean laughs at him - it’s just the two of them, even though there’s five other people out there with them.

Once, Cas plucked the cigarette from Dean’s hand and stamped it out on the floor rather than letting him smoke it, slapping Dean’s arm as he did so, and if that’s not flirting Dean doesn’t know what is. Sam teases him afterwards, when Dean’s practically bouncing home. Sam must know Dean’s got a thing for Cas but blessedly, his baby brother lets Dean stay uncomfortable in his sexuality.

Dean comes home from the bar one night, grinning to himself. He can’t fight it, because after the drink with Cas, Cas had reached out and ran his fingers down Dean’s hand, very lightly. They’d smiled and parted, and Dean wants to sing it from the rooftops; the touch his still warm on his hand.

It’s only once he gets through the door to his home does he realize that Cas’s touch is barely a consolation prize.

Dad’s drunk, he’s really fucking drunk. It’s obvious as ever; his cheeks are flushed, his movements are looser, his eyes are glazed but still hot in anger. There’s also the almost empty bottle of Jack on the table. Dean doesn’t know where Bobby is, probably out because even he can’t stand by and let Sam and Dad get nose to nose as they are now, yelling right in each other’s faces.

Dean stands in surprise for a moment, watching how the scene unfurls, his mind still in safety with Cas and the bar, with Cas’s warm hand on his own.

“I’m your father and you do as I say!” Dad thunders, spit flying in Sam’s face.

“Stop trying to control me! I can leave if I want to!” Sam yells back, almost as intimidating.

“You’re a junkie, Sam! I can’t trust you to be away, Sam, I can’t do it!”

Sam pulls back, his chest held high and he’s going to do something stupid. He brings Dean back to the old arguments where there’d be screaming and punching, with Dean and Bobby doing their best to keep them apart. The memories prompt Dean into action; he stands between them with his back to Sam, holding up his hands ready to push them both apart.

“Stop it, damnit!” he shouts in the best imitation of his father’s marine voice as he can.

But Sam fights him - of course SAm fights him - yelling, “I hate you so fucking much, you know that?” at Dad, and he’s turned and stormed out the house before Dean can stop him, the door rattling on its hinges as it’s slammed shut with far too much force.

Dean turns back to Dad, who’s glaring at the door with an ugly expression.

“Fuck,” says Dad, much too calmly. “Fuck, goddamn shit,” he says, getting louder and angrier with every cuss.

“What happens?” Dean asks, taking a careful step back. He can probably guess and isn’t surprised when Dad acts like he didn’t say a word. Dad shakes his head, to himself more than to Dean, and walks out the door.

Figures.

Dean takes a beer out the fridge and swallows it down in three big gulps, stroking his hand and pretending it’s Cas’s on top of his. He holds his phone in his hand, presses speed dial 1 a few times but Sam’s phone’s turned off. He keeps trying, until Sam must have a good fifteen missed calls from Dean alone.

Dean doesn’t think about the argument as he sits on the couch. There’s just so many of them, there’s always a new fucking argument and Dean’s tired. He taps his fingers against the couch and smokes inside - Bobby and Sam are gonna bitch but who gives a fuck? He makes a sandwich and has to throw half away, wary if he eats more that he won’t be able to stop and the risk is too high when there’s Dad and Sam and Bobby as loose ends, ready to come in at any moment, ready to burst in on any of his spots. He can’t, he can’t, so he sits and smokes and keeps his eyes closed and his mind quiet.

Dad comes back not long later. He goes straight for the fridge and pulls out two beers and sits down next to Dean. Dad seems not to be as drunk as Dean thought, as he’s not staggering and he doesn’t smell that strongly of whisky.

“Here,” says Dad, popping off the cap and sliding a beer to Dean. He sighs heavily and starts to scrub at his eyes with his hands. “Sorry,” he says in a low voice, and Dean stares at him in shock.

“What?” Dean blurts out rudely, catching Dad’s angry expression and drops his eyes and his shock.

Dad shakes his head, shaking off the flash of rage. “I keep on pushing him away, huh,” he laughs bitterly.

Dean can’t help himself; he looks up again and goggles. Dad doesn’t apologize to anyone, for anything.

Dad takes a sip of his beer, obviously struggling with this. “He’s leaving, you -?” Dad looks to Dean and shakes his head sadly. “Of course you know,” and a wave of guilt runs through Dean’s body. “I can’t have Sammy so far away,” Dad says firmly.

Dean blows the air out of his nose and Dad’s eyes snap back to his. “I need to know he’s safe, okay?” Dad says, the irritation creeping back into his voice.

“What, because you’re so good at protecting him now?” Dean shoots back, and it’s Dad’s turn to stare at Dean. Dean fights the overwhelming need to drop his eyes, to relax his shoulders and submit; he’s never spoken to Dad like this before.

There’s something in Dad’s eyes; he’s pissed. He’s sitting with a clenched jaw and has a coldness in his gaze that takes Dean back to Sam’s rage - but Dad nods.

“I fucked up a lot, I know,” he says stiffly. “But I’m gonna fix things, Dean.”

Yeah, like he’s never heard that one before.

Dad and Sam don't talk much for the next few days. Sam's burning up with anger and indignation and Dad's just shitty with emotions. The house feels cold and unwelcoming with the stony silences, with the slamming of every fucking door, and Dean doesn't blame Bobby for shooting off to the Harvelle's at every opportunity. Sam stays holed in his room all the time he can and Dad's fuck knows where, so Dean's got the run of the house to himself when he's not working.

Sam attends his meetings and his volunteering, meets with his sponsor Jody regularly enough and other than the silent treatment with Dad, he seems to be doing okay.

It's Cas who preoccupies most of Dean's thoughts. Not that he didn't often - thick lips and black hair fill his fantasies - but there's something off with him. Cas is usually very intense when they meet so when he has to ask Dean to repeat himself again and again through the evening, Dean knows something’s off.

There are great bags under Cas’s eyes, his shirt’s more crumpled than usual, he yawns and blinks at Dean with sleepy eyes rather than peering, rather than responding. At first, Dean teases about him having a late night, the old man that he is unable to recover.

Dean wonders (hopes) he’s having troubles with Meg. Hopes that when Cas stares dreamily into the distance, oblivious to how Dean watches him as he gets them more drinks, that it’s Dean Cas is thinking of. Unfortunately, when Dean returns and slides the beer over, Cas shares his holiday plans. A week in Italy with Meg, where they’ll drink good coffee and fuck in hotel beds, get drunk on wine together and flirt in the sun.

Cas would look so good in a European cafe. He’d sit and smile as the sun shines on his face, bright in his blue eyes, relaxed in his - Dean suddenly imagines Cas in cargo shorts and a Hawaiian shirt and stifles a giggle. Nah, he’ll walk down cobble streets hand in hand with Meg, in a cute summer dress and sunglasses. Cas can probably speak Italian; they’ll go to the museums and see the fucking Sistine Chapel and talk about Michelangelo without making stupid Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles jokes.

“I’ll miss you,” Dean says as they part, keeping his head turned away from Cas. He can feel Cas’s eyes on him, knows how he stands gazing at Dean with intent. Cas catches his arm, making Dean turn to him, and sure enough his expression is pure and intense. Dean could raise his arms and hold Cas’s face between his hands and kiss him senseless. He wants to, he wants to so bad…

Dean nods to Cas and walks off, hands deep in his pockets. He feels Cas’s eyes on him as he walks but he doesn’t turn around.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi bulimicish things happen in this chapter so warning! So also a vague warning for emetophobics and I'm sorry for no update last week sugars! But be happy for me my exams are over on Wednesday

It’s stupid. They’re short of money, always have been, and here Dean is spending half his paycheck on food he only brings back up, and then spends the other half (and then some) having to get his cavities filled in. The dentist had warned him about acidity, suggesting he drank too much juice and had too much sugar, but Dean suspects all the acid from his stomach can’t be doing his teeth much good. Dean steals Sam’s laptop to google, finding out that vomiting erodes teeth like no one’s business if it’s a regular thing. There’s also a help section for people who have problems with the whole chucking up the food thing - binge/purge, they call it. Dean does his best to ignore it, ‘cause look at him. Soft and chubby as anything. 

Anyway. Food issues are a chick thing. Not that he has issues.

He's gonna stop, Dean decides suddenly. It's a waste of time and money and it's fucking weird. All he's got to do is just not eat so much, which is easy enough, right?

Work is fine. He ignores Gordon and jokes with Reggie, eats something small for lunch and takes a nap on the couch when he's done. Goes for a drink with his friends, wonders how Cas is doing... and he doesn't throw up for a whole week.

Dean never realized how dependent he was on it. He's tense all week, waiting for something he can't have - he's not the self control to stay away from food properly. The atmosphere in the house stifles him enough to need to get out and he goes running, works overtime, finds Lisa and Jo at the Roadhouse, irritates Sam through his essays and works overtime in the yard. He's avidly scouring the internet for '67 Chevy Impala parts when he's faced with real cravings and keeps snapping at Bobby.

Dean's not surprised when Bobby yells at him and storms off to the Harvelle’s.

“Dude, what?” Sam huffs impatiently after Dean snaps at him once too many.

“What?” Dean scowls back.

“You’ve been pissy all week,” says Sam, indignant.

“And?”

Sam gives him a look that Dean imitates back.

“God!” Sam explodes. “You’re so fucking annoying, you know that?” He slams down his coffee cup, spilling the contents over the table and ignoring it entirely. Sure, Dean’s been a bit of a dick to Sam all week maybe but then Sam’s been really fucking annoying with his moaning and sighing and Jesus fucking Christ, Dean’s had to put up with Sam and Dad’s arguments for fucking years.

“You’re so fucking annoying, did you know that,” Dean mimics in a prissy, high-pitched voice. “Dean, your thumping down the stairs hurts my delicate ears. Dean, when you raise your voice it scares my soft temperament. Dean -”

Sam thumps him in the arm, hard. Dean socks him right back in the shoulder and Sam swears at him before running off upstairs.

Unsurprisingly, sitting in the kitchen staring at the pool of spilled coffee doesn’t make him feel much better. That’s where Dad finds him and takes a dishcloth and wipes up the coffee.

“What’s your problem?” he asks after a few silent minutes.

“Nothing,” Dean replies sullenly.

Dad snorts. “Pull the other one.” He rifles through the cupboards and brings out a bottle of whisky. Dad gets two small glass tumblers and drags a chair out from under the table, letting it screech on the wooden floor, and sits down heavily. He pours half an inch of whisky into the tumblers and slides one across to Dean.

Dean watches Dad sipping his drink slowly. “Not seen your friend recently?” Dad asks casually.

“My friend?”

Dad waves the glass in the air. “You know, the man you keep seeing.”

“Cas?” It surprises Dean, the recognition flickering over Dad’s face, like he knows about Cas. “Yeah, he’s on holiday with his girlfriend.” Dean tries not to drop his voice as he says the word, giving away his attraction.

“Girlfriend?”

“Meg. Been together years, even while he was doing his tours of duty and in service and all that crap.”

“Military, huh?” asks Dad.

“Army. He’s not sure about it, though. Thinks it’s not so much him and I gotta say, I kind of-” Dean looks up and stops himself in his sentence, shaking his head with embarrassment even though Dad’s not looking at him.

“Sounds like an interesting guy,” Dad says.

“Yeah.” Dean imagines another world where he could be talking about the man he likes with his mom, telling her how he thinks she and Dad would like him. Imagines saying that to Dad and almost chokes on his whisky. Dad doesn’t refill their glasses; he takes them away and puts them in the dishwasher, clapping his hand on Dean’s shoulder as he goes past.

“Night, Deano, try get some sleep.”

Dean doesn’t know how to reply so he just drops his head, nodding in Dad's direction.

Dad continues the weird parental act; the next day, he joins Dean at work and they fix up an old Chevy together. It’s kind of awkward at first, as they’re both wrong footed with how to act around the other in the workplace, because their lives were so different when Dad first taught Dean his trade, but Dad’s a great mechanic and Dean’s ecstatic to get his experience. They quickly fall into a comfortable rhythm and Dean’s grateful that Reggie and Gordon get that this is a big moment for them and leave them alone, but Gordon likes to send filthy looks over at them every so often.

Gordon could be pissed that Dean’s ignoring him but he could be pissed that Dean’s - yeah. He could be pissed about Dean.

“C’mon, Dean, focus.”

“I am,” Dean hisses.

“Don’t talk back to me,” Dad says automatically, but he pulls away from the car to watch Dean work, nodding approvingly when he’s done on the engine. The car needs a full repaint after, and Dad carefully tapes up the windows and the chrome but the small tremors in his hands mean that Dean’s got to do the finer details and they repaint it together.

The car takes a couple of days, not that much work to be done but it’s a big deal. A very big deal, all the time Dean and Dad have spent together.

“Getting good at this,” says Dad, smiling with approval. Dad turns his head and glances over to the blue tarpaulin covered Impala in Bobby’s yard and grins back at Dean, and goes back into the house. It’s the permission Dean’s never known he’s needed.

~

Dean pauses by the back door, where the window next to it is slightly open and Dad’s voice drifts in.

“Sammy,” Dad says, choked up enough that Dean thinks he’s drunk. “You’re doing so well and I am so, so proud of you.”

Dean can’t see them but he knows that Sam’s doing that thing he does with his hands when he’s uncomfortable, probably ducking his head and shuffling his feet.

Dad chuckles softly. “Inspiring me, kid.”

Dean’s burning; he shouldn’t be hearing this and he shouldn’t be getting so fucking jealous of his little brother and when Sam replies with his own choking voice, Dean leaves. It’s not for him to hear.

Dean means to go upstairs but somehow he’s got the car keys in his hand and he’s pulling open the door and it’s the bar he goes to pull. He doesn’t set out for a girl but she’s got red hair and these bright blue eyes and there’s something about her. They like the same music, same movies, and Dean thinks she’s great. And she - Anna - thinks he’s great.  

Only he can’t quite lose himself as he grips her pale skin, as he presses his lips against her stomach. And when he looks into her eyes, it’s so intense that he comes embarrassingly quickly (but he goes down on her to make it up to her). It’s another pair of blue eyes he’d like to imagine, and Anna’s are close enough that Dean can’t get Cas out of his head. He’d quite like to go for round two but when Anna pulls out some cigarettes instead, Dean doesn’t complain and takes one.

Anna doesn’t seem one for cuddling, which is a shame. It’s almost his favorite part of sex - almost.

“My brother hates that I smoke,” Anna says casually, leaning back.

“So does mine, and he smokes more than me.”

Anna snorts and smiles up at him with a familiar tilt to her head. Far too fucking familiar; Dean turns away. Anna’s small and graceful and delicate but Dean wants the strength of a soldier wrapped around him, the rough hands and thick thighs.

Anna taps her cigarette into Dean’s mug. “My parents hate it too; pisses them off no end.”

“Healthy,” Dean snorts.

“They’re control freaks. You should meet the family; psychologist would have a field day,” Anna says idly, dancing her fingers along the soft of Dean’s stomach. It makes him acutely uncomfortable, so he takes her hand in his and pushes it up, kissing her again, tasting the smoke on her breath.

They break apart and Dean leaves to piss. When he returns, Anna’s standing by the window in just her t shirt, the hem coming to halfway down her ass. Her legs are covered with soft, ginger hair and there’s a delicious nest of curls over her cunt but the way she gazes out the window reminds Dean who he’d rather be with. He kisses her on the cheek before pulling his jeans back on.

~

There’s two hours before Dean’s due to meet Cas, and he’s sweaty and has car oil in his hair but his and Sam’s room is a more pressing matter. It’s kind of disgusting right now - a pile up of Sam’s old dirty cups and plates, wrappers and books scattered across the room and an overfilled trash can with snotty tissues littered around from Sam’s recent cold.

His knees click as he bends under the old wooden desk, fishing out screwed up bits of paper, abandoned essays probably. Dean hears something at the door and starts, hitting his head on the desktop.

“Shit,” he rubs his head and climbs out from under the desk, shaking off dust from his jeans. He looks over to the doorway, where Sam stands on the border between the landing and their room with a pale face, holding a piece of paper.

Dean stands to attention. “Sammy? What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t get in,” Sam whispers.

“What?”

“I didn’t get in,” Sam repeats louder, completely heartbroken.

Crap. “Stanford?”

Sam nods.

“Shit. Ah, Sammy, shit,” Dean drops the trash he’s holding and goes over to hug his overgrown little brother.

“It’s okay,” Sam says in a choked voice, head over Dean’s shoulder. “They were never gonna take me in anyway, I just kinda hoped…”

Dean thumps his back softly. “They’re idiots, Sammy. Don’t know what they’re missing.”

“Don’t care,” Sam says thickly, dropping his head down to rest on Dean’s shoulder. “Guess I’m not - not good enough for them.”

Dean pushes him back, holding Sam at arm’s length, keeping his face stern when Sam meets his eyes. “The hell you talking about, you’re not good enough? Hell, Sammy, you are, you believe that.”

Dean hugs him again when Sam nods, holding him as Sam clings, shaking.

“We’ll work it out, Sammy,” Dean promises as Sam weeps through his shirt.

After that, Dean waits for the inevitable to happen. And he keeps waiting. Dean’s convinced that Sam’s gonna relapse from the disappointment but Sam proves him wrong every day. They go to meetings as usual and tease each other, cook together and get on with Dad, and Sam says he’s got into Berkeley, like it’s no big deal.

“Some guy in the same ward as me at hospital, he uh, he had a high opinion of me. Said he had contacts at Berkeley and put in a good word,” Sam says, trying to fight off a grin, but his dimples betray him.

Let it never be said that Sam doesn't have balls. Sure, he did great at his SATs and in school, despite an ongoing drugs addiction and even did well at the local college until he was getting really sick. And if anyone could pull this shit off, it's Dean's baby brother. Still.

"Berkeley accepted an-" Dean stops himself talking, wary of sticking his foot in it and getting Sam mad and pushing him that bit too far.

"An ex-junkie with no money?" Sam snorts. "Yeah, they reckon I've got potential." He says it offhand but he's beaming with pride and a proud smile stretches over Dean's own face.

"You had an interview?"

Sam nods, chewing his spaghetti. "Phone interview," he explains through the mouthful.

"Dude, food, open mouth," Dean chides, and Sam flips him off.

"Please, you're such a pig."

Which is kinda fair, given the amount of food Dean's spilled onto the table.

Cas calls him asking to meet at the bar, ignoring all pleasantries in the conversation. It’s practically their bar now; there’s a regular booth Cas grabs and most of the bartenders know them by name and wave as they come in. Cas always arranges the same time, same place, like Dean’s a routine in his life, putting aside a slot for Dean. The bags under his eyes are darker than usual, his hair even messier. Dean points out a button Cas has skipped on his shirt as he slides into the booth, pushing a beer to Cas. Cas looks down, disinterested, pulling at his shirt and then giving up.

“You okay, man?” Dean asks, taking in the sweat stains on Cas’s shirt.

Cas nods slowly. “I’m acceptable,” he replies. “And you? How are you, Dean?”

“Kind of in shock,” Dean admits. He’s still beaming with pride, despite Cas’s demeanour, and Cas is honestly interested so he shares the good news. "My baby brother's going to Berkeley.”

Cas perks up, his eyebrows lifting and he sits up straighter. "Really? That's excellent news. I'm sure you're very proud of him."

"Yeah, but..." Dean drums his fingers on the table. "He's not exactly the ideal candidate."

"Berkeley has a high admission rate and is more accessible," says Cas fairly.

Dean scoffs, leaning back in his seat. "He was a hardcore heroin addict and they're cool with him being an undergrad?"

Cas shrugs. "It's good for their reputation. Sam's probably the smartest person I know, and that's when he's in an uncomfortable environment."

"Sure. He'll be a unique student, that's for sure."

"Berkeley is a large college. They lose a lot of students early on. It would benefit them to accept transfers, certainly financially." He changes tack quickly, narrowing his eyebrows. "How is he paying?"

"Full ride," Dean says, shaking his head.

Cas, for the first time since Dean's known him, is noticeably impressed. "That's amazing."

"Fucking incredible. I mean, his SAT scores are almost perfect and..." Dean shrugs again. "He was always gonna go far."

Cas smiles, crinkles around his eyes deepening. "I wish him all the luck." He drinks down half of his beer in one swallow; Dean watches his throat move with the volume. Yeah, his mind has left Sam.

Cas is gearing up to something but he stops himself and looks down at the table. That’s enough; Cas was the one to arrange the meeting and it’s turning out all about Dean again.

Dean clasps his hands. “Hey. Talk to me.”

Cas lets out a breath. “Okay.” He nods a couple of times, looking down at his hands. “I left the army.”

Dean chokes on his beer. "You - ? Uh, shit." Smart, Dean. Very helpful. "You uh - happy?"

Cas nods slowly. "I think so. It's strange..." He drops his voice. "I've not yet told my father. I'm not sure what he's going to say."

"He's gonna be mad?" asks Dean.

"I don't know," says Cas, concentrating. "I don't know -" he sighs and drops his shoulders, shrinking in his seat. "I don't know how much he cares what I do," he says honestly. "He can be intolerant, my father, and I... I did something that he doesn't usually agree with, once. And I don't think it upset my father."

Dean's heart goes out to him. "Dick," he says without thinking.

Cas smiles like he knows he shouldn't. "Maybe." Toying with the label on the bottle, he looks up at Dean again and sighs. Again. "And - Meg broke up with me." Cas's voice cracks and he slumps back in his seat again, a stark contrast to his usual stiff, formal hold of his shoulders.

Dean's eyes widen. The first thought in his head is how many fucking bombshells is he gonna get today, and the second is leaning across and taking Cas's beautiful face into his hands and kissing the sense out of him.

Cas sniffs lightly. Dean desperately reaches across the table for his hand and starts to rub the back of it with his thumb. They both look down in surprise, both not expecting the contact and Dean's neck starts to prickle; he's sure people are looking at them but Cas doesn't pull his hand back and doesn't appear disgusted. Cas closes his eyes, in fact, squeezing Dean's hand. Dean breathes easier but there's a dark flush on his face and his arms are itching.

"What happened?" Dean asks quietly, trying to push away the voice yelling how really fucking gay this is, as he strokes Cas's hand more.

Cas shrugs his shoulders, letting them slump back down, narrower and more sloped than ever. "It's complicated. She... Meg thinks maybe my attention has wandered. She informed me she wouldn't allow me to push her to the sidelines."

The world stills. Properly, this time. Not that it means anything, he reminds himself desperately. Cas probably has his eye on a smart, cute woman, but Dean can't not imagine a shy kiss over the table. A soft hug where they look around and notice their close proximity and lean in together. Dean ducking his head, finding Cas's soft lips and cries when Cas professes 'It's always been you, Dean' and fucking tears, really?

"Yeah?" Dean croaks, aware of the tension in the air.

"I think she is correct, yes," Cas says, with his eyes so very fucking blue, so very fucking bright, and Dean's getting lost again.

And then, a heavy guitar rhythm destroys the mood. Smoke on the Water, from Dean's phone. Dean cusses and waves a hand to excuse himself, 'cause it's Sam.

"What?" He barks irritably (yet still grateful because who knows what would have happened back there?)

"I hate him so much," Sam whispers on the phone, voice cracking into a sob at the end.

"Sammy? What happened?" Dean demands.

"I'm not a junkie, Dean! I'm not anymore," sobs Sam.

Dean can imagine him; in their bedroom, hunched over on Dean's bed, rocking himself.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean soothes like he's always done. "I'll come home now."

"I just can't stay here, Dean," Sam says with an edge of desperation.

Dean's got to steel himself for a minute to reply, pressing his fingers against the corners of his eyes.

"You stay right where you are, okay, Sammy? I won't be long, I'm on my way right now. Just stay there."

Sam sobs harder and Dean can't bring himself to hang up, so Dean goes in and tells Cas he's got to go. Cas's face falls before an expression of concern, but Dean's quick to leave.

He won't like you, anyway, he tells himself firmly.

Sammy's as forlorn as Dean had pictured when Dean enters their room. He's curled up on Dean's bed, a pillow around his stomach, breathing slowly and deeply like he's sleeping, but there's a quiver in his shoulders, he's shivering and shaking. Dean wraps a blanket over his shoulders and shuts the window.

"Hey," he says quietly, sitting down on the bed next to Sam, dropping a hand onto his back. "How you doing, tiger?"

Sam blows the air out through his nose. "I feel like crap," he says, his voice croaking.

"Yeah. You - uh, you wanna talk?" It's the kind of dumbass stuff Sammy says helps, that they say is useful in his NA meetings. Being able to share his feelings is something that they're trying to get Sam to do more, so Dean pats his back a few times to try and get him to talk.

He misses how easy it was when Sam was a kid. He'd have nightmares and wake up crying and shrieking, climb into Dean's bed and talk to him about everything that happened through his sobs, and a hug would make it all better. Sammy would have nightmares of car crashes and drunk dads, falling back to sleep breathing hot air on Dean's neck.

When Sammy was in withdrawal, in the bleak hospital room, hooked up to drugs and hating every second of it, he'd shook so hard that it was difficult for Dean to hold him. But it's what he does best, look after his little brother.

It’s not normal, what he does. Dean’s like 90% sure that most of the rest of the world doesn’t have a food store hidden away, like he does, and doesn’t shovel it down in a panicked frenzy and feel sick with self loathing afterwards, and then throw up about $60 worth of food. It’s not that it helps, it’s just what he needs. It’s part of him, it’s necessary.

He sneaks out the backdoor to where his baby lies. Dean pulls down the tarpaulin and opens the trunk, pulls out the expertly made false bottom  and here’s what he’s come to. A stash of food in the trunk of the Impala out of no better place to hide it. Dean takes a minute or two to steel himself, because he’s shaking both in anticipation and shame. God, he’s pathetic.

The wrappers get tucked back under the false bottom. Dean goes back into the kitchen and drinks as much water as be possibly can before dashing up to the bathroom and popping a towel under his knees. Gets hard on them, see, he takes good fucking care of his knees and tries to with his teeth. Dean’s read somewhere that stomach acid is shit for the teeth and rinsing out with bicarbonate of soda helps and waiting at least twenty minutes after eating or puking before cleaning teeth.

The bathroom mirror is unflattering as ever; his face is pale and clammy and his freckles make him look ill. Mucus green eyes, purple bags under them, an angry spot by his chin, he looks a real fucking state. Dean pokes at his cheeks. Moon faced. Fat and soft and doughy all over.

Yeah, he thinks, you’re definitely the reason Meg broke up with Cas. Any rush Dean had before is gone; he trudges up the stairs and checks in on sleeping Bobby and brushes his sleep sluggishly in the bathroom, saying night to Sam as he collapses thankfully into bed.

~

Reggie saves Dean’s life a few times the next day where he’s not jacked the car up properly, before he tells Dean to go and fix the bunker of the car while Reggie takes over.

“The hell’s your head at, man?” says Reggie, shaking his head at Dean.

“Rough night,” Dean replies, already more focused on the car than what’s around it, and then goes flying as he trips over a toolbox. Dean’s cheeks go red as he hears the snickers from Gordon, but Reggie only shakes his head again and Bobby calls him over.

“You need a break? asks Bobby, his bushy eyebrows pulled down in concern.

“I could use a smoke,” says Dean.

Bobby sighs at Dean. “You could use giving up, you idjit. What do you think it does to your lungs?”

“Live fast, die young,” Dean replies flippantly, but it’s without enthusiasm.

“Know I worry about you, kid,” Bobby says gruffly.

“I’m a big boy, Bobby.”

Bobby snorts softly and Dean leaves for a smoke, trying to calm his shaking hands.

Sam was okay in the morning. He explained to Dean the argument as he pulled on his t shirt (ribs not quite poking through the skin anymore, Dean's happy to note). It was a dumb argument, as it always is. Sam and Dad can and do argue about anything and then it blows up, and Dean takes care of Sam when he's upset and never tells Dad off for being a dick.

Dean sees Cas a lot. Like, two nights a week if they can, and then the NA meetings, and there's texting and Cas had called Dean up when he was bored in his lunch break, and Dean sometimes sends Cas emails with funny pictures in them.

He’s still edgy by the end of the day, but luckily hasn’t killed anyone. Dean checks in on Sam and starts dinner, drumming his heels against the counter, his fingers on the kitchen table, twitching all he can. Sam gives him strange looks as he taps his way through dinner but Sam then leaves for a cup of coffee with his sponsor late into the evening. Dad’s MIA as usual, Bobby’s at the Harvelles’, so Dean’s got the house to himself and some nervous energy to kill.

He takes his time, wrapping his hands around his cock and stroking up his sensitive thighs, pulling his nipples until they sting. Every gasp he makes, every moan reminds him he’s alone in the house and the thrill and shame of someone coming in makes it a huge game.

As usual, Cas sneaks into his head. In Dean’s head, Cas prowls around with his runner’s thighs and soldier’s arms, cold and collected as Dean’s whimpering under his gaze. In this fantasy, Cas is fully dressed and has asked Dean to remove all, to bare all, to expose himself in ways he can’t hide. Hands dropped to his sides, Cas’s cool fingers stroking Dean’s shoulder, Dean’s painfully hard like one touch could have him spurting.

And Cas refuses to give him the touch. He tells Dean what he’s allowed to do to himself; Dean knows he can get himself off easily but Cas doesn’t want him to, so Dean doesn’t. Only, back in the real world, Dean’s stroking his dick faster and faster and whining and breathing hard and pulls out the orgasm before he can stop himself, lying back breathing heavily and letting come cool on his belly. He cleans himself up with a shirt due for washing and lies back in the post orgasm glow.

He turns over in his bed at the boxes that litter the floor, piled high with books. Sam’s got more than two months until he leaves but he’s been packing with the same desperation he’d been writing essays. Desperate to get out of here.

Sam’s got his floppy haired enthusiasm back, hurrying around Dean and Bobby’s feet and trying to help them fix cars and work out what’s wrong, getting all interested in ways he’s never been. His days fill up fast with essays and volunteering and NA and learning how to change car tyres, until he does more harm than good and comes away with a bleeding hand. Dean leads him upstairs and runs cold water over it, making sure its free from grease and sticking a band aid over the cut. It’s not his writing hand, luckily.

“I was just seeing what was in there,” Sam explains, pushing back his sweaty bangs with his non injured hand.

“What, with your fingers?”

Sam shrugs, cheeks flushed. He’s still the kid who’d get caught eating worms and trying to fix his own bike with a fork – Sam was never too good with his hands – or the crying little boy with the skinned knee. Even if he was halfway across the continent.

“Leave all the manual labor to me next time, okay? And use your fucking brain, it’s in there somewhere, right?” Dean teases, poking Sam in the head.

Sam pushes his hand away. “Get off me, Neanderthal.”

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

They grin at each other, Sammy’s dimples softening the harsh of his cheekbones.

Summer arrives to South Dakota clear and crisp, with long evenings spent having a beer with Sammy as they lean over the porch, watching the sun set. The two months fly by - summer booms in their industry, as Bobby’s garage specialises in classic cars which most people only ever bring out in summer; realise they need the tune up in spring or realise they’re totally fucked when they get them out of the garage. It means money, which Dean divvies up into necessary money, into spare money for Sam and the old repair fund for the Impala.

One Tuesday evening, Dean and Sam escape to a creek they used to visit as kids, armed with beer and sausages, having a barbecue to reminisce. They call Benny and Jo out, Charlie joining later, and at the last minute Dean invites Cas out.

Dean drops his head back and laughs as Jo recounts a story she remembered as a kid of Dean and Sam’s prank war, and was rather badly influenced.

“You know that episode in Friends where Rachel teaches Ross’s kid all those pranks?” Jo giggles, slurping her beer. “I was basically doing all of those on my mom, she was furious.”

“Hey, Jo, do you remember - nah, you were only three or something, but when Sam - “ Dean grins and looks around the group, pleased at his captive audience, other than Sam who eyes Dean with suspicion. “So we’d been watching this show where the mom gets pregnant and Sam’s all interested of course and I tell him all the love bullshit and baby in the mom’s belly, and a couple hours later Sam comes down with a folded towel under his shirt.”

Sam groans and Benny’s silently laughing, able to predict what’s coming.

Dean stifles his own chuckles. “And he’s like - Dean, something amazing’s happened,” Dean imitates, making his voice high pitched and lisping. “I love you with all my heart and now i’m pregnant!”

Charlie screeches out a laugh - had too much beer already, Jo leans over and pinches Sam’s cheeks through her giggles, Benny chuckles and Cas shakes with mirth. Dean winks at him without really meaning to and breaks the eye contact, embarrassed, but lets the alcohol and laughter soak over him.

“He even gave birth,” Dean elaborates on the story, not quite so honestly. “There was a tiny little bear, Mister Montgomery the bear, that popped out one day…”

“Dude, come on,” Sam protests, his cheeks red in embarrassment. “I did not pretend to give birth to a bear, you’re making it up.”

“I’m not! Sammy, I swear to God, you were asking every chick you saw about how the baby comes out -”

“You’re lying,” Sam counters, his voice getting higher pitched and indignant.

“Aw, Sammy, it was cute,” Dean shakes his head. “You remember when you used to argue with me about everything? You’d say Dad or Uncle Bobby said that I had to give you a go on the bike or whatever, and I’d ask when they said that and you’d say -”

“When you weren’t looking,” Sam and Dean say in unison.

“Cute,” Jo laughs, leaning over to ruffle Sam’s hair again.

“Nothing I did was as bad as your punk phase,” counters Sam, raising his eyes at Dean.

Charlie spits out her drink. “Punk phase? Oh, shit, Sam you have got to tell us more.”

“The self-pierced ear was a particular highlight, which of course got gross and infected - didn’t you stick a safety pin through that?”

“First it was a thumbtack,” Dean reminds him. Awful idea; one of Dean’s worst when he was about sixteen, sterilizing the tack with his lighter and the ice to numb it - which only hardened the tissue of his ear. And yeah, it was infected a week later and an altogether dumb idea.

“You even wore eyeliner, it was hilarious,” Sam grins, slurping his beer. “Oh - Jo, do you remember he shaved off like half an eyebrow -?”

Dean cuts over Sam and the noise of the laughter (it was meant to look edgy and awesome but didn’t really end up that way) to say, “You remember the hair Jo used to have?”

Jo puts her hands on her knees and leans back. “When I cut my own hair?”

“Ellen’s still got a picture,” Dean says to Benny and Charlie. “It’s in the back of the Roadhouse. Fucking hilarious.” He holds up his hands to the side of his head to emphasis the asymmetry of the haircut.

“And you dyed it puke green,” Dean teases.

“It was blue,” Jo splutters. “It just didn’t work!”

Cas approaches Dean as he works the barbecue, scratching at the side of his head where his hair’s been growing out. He doesn’t saying anything, just watches Dean flip the sausages, trenchcoat pulled tight around him despite the warm air.

“It’s beautiful out here,” says Cas eventually, looking away from the group and up at the orange sky. It really is; the halo of gold around Cas’s messy hair, the gentle smile on his face, and he turns his head slightly to smile at Dean, and they watch the clouds together.

“Summer plans?” asks Dean.

“Yes,” Cas replies. “Gabriel and me are planning to - uh, ‘road trip’,” he mimes parentheses with his fingers, “to see my sisters.”

“Awesome. Where are they?”

“California.” Cas turns around so his body faces Dean as well as his head. “I think it will make for an interesting vacation,” he says wryly.

“Sisters,” Dean nods, turning the sausages. “What are they like?”

Cas frowns. “Forthright. Hester is determined to have very impressive children and Anna is determined to disobey in every way she can. Anna’s going to join us to see Lucy, who hasn’t seen Gabe in a very long time, he swallows and looks down at his hands. “Anna’s actually close by right now. She has a new job starting in the fall, so has been residing with a friend.”

Cas lets his shoulders drop and tips his head back. “I enjoy having Anna around. My sisters all have very strong personalities, and they all clash, so Anna refuses to see them without me. But she smokes,” he adds with a frown and a pointed look at Dean. “Hester calls her every week to ask if she has quit yet.”

“Who’s your favorite?” Dean asks quickly, grinning cheerily at Cas.

Cas crosses his arms and looks to the side. “I don’t - I love all my siblings. I have no favorite.”

“You must have a favorite,” Dean argues, turning up the heat on the barbecue.

“I do not,” Cas retorts, sounding very much like a petulant child. “Do you - well you only have one -”

“Nah-uh,” Dean counters, waving his tongs in the air. “Jo’s basically family. And she’s Sam’s favorite.”

Sam looks over, hearing his name mentioned and clambers up off the wet floor, brushing off grass and leaves and dirt from his jeans. “What about me?”

Dean winks at Cas. “He’s got a huge crush on her,” he says, slapping Sam’s back.

“Shut up, I don’t,” Sam says dismissively, doing that petulant bitch face he always pulls.

Dean waves him off. “Sure you do. Blonde hair, blue eyes, that’s been your type forever.”

“Type?” Cas asks, tilting his head as he does when he’s missing the reference.

“Everyone’s got a type,” says Dean. “Person you go for to sleep with.” Sam looks at him with exasperation this time and he adds, “or date or lust after.”

Comprehension dawns over Cas’s face. “What’s your type?” he asks with interest.

There’s a gleeful look on Sam’s face now; Dean glares at him and clears his throat and is about to say something sexist and douchebaggish but then Charlie interrupts.

“Yo, Dean,” she calls out. “I’m starving.”

Dean yells back an ETA and Sam shakes his head, muttering something about ‘saved by the bell’, and it seems to have distracted Cas who starts opening the packs of plastic cutlery and paper plates. Dean piles up the meat and calls them to help themselves and Jo’s laughing with Benny about something political and Sam’s grinning on the sidelines.

Charlie and Cas are the only ones of them who’ve been to college so Sam grabs them both and tries to suck up all the information he can, like he’s not already had a year of college before this and soon they’re talking campus stories, an experience Sam completely missed out on. It’s dark by the time Charlie tells the story of how she had been found fully clothed and passed out on some random person’s bed holding a bottle of wine, and Dean’s found the whole evening to have finished far too quickly.

The whole summer goes by too quickly, in fact. Cas clears off on his road trip, Sam’s completely absorbed in college plans and fuck knows where Dad is half the time. Sam doesn’t even ask, just good-naturedly asks him about his day and which books is he allowed to take with him. They have a ceremonial last dinner for am the day before he leaves, with salad and steak and beer; Dad, Sam, Jo, Ellen, Bobby and Dean all round the table, teasing each other and telling Sam what to do and what not to do.

Ellen cries before the night is over and Jo kisses Sam’s cheek, making him blush harder than anything. Dean drinks maybe a little bit too much, which is noticeable given Dad doesn’t. And maybe Dean gets a tiny bit teary eyed as they have this awkward group hug thing and no one even teases him for it, because Sam’s looking close to tears too.

And then it’s morning, and Dean’s head is thick and Dad’s scarpered again and Bobby says his goodbyes early and hides in the garage. He’s given Dean the day off to take Sam to the bus station. Breakfast is a strange affair, as Sam’s excited and scared and Dean’s kind of distraught. They eat cereal and drink coffee and Sam goes through his list and ticks off the items he’s packed, and he’s got another list to tick things off as they go into the car.

“Dude, you’re so anal,” Dean says through his cereal.

Sam flips him off without looking up, mumbling his list items. He’s wearing Dean’s old plaid shirt, he notes, getting kind of worn at the elbows.

They load up the car and Dean relents and lets him choose the music (which he really hasn’t done enough) and they have half an hour waiting at the bus station. They sit down watching the arrivals board, clockwatching.

Dean heaves out a sigh. “You know I’m - proud of you, for all of this, Sammy,” he swallows and bobs his head.

Sam swallows loudly and bites his lip.

“And M - Mom would be so proud,” he nudges Sam’s shoulder with his own.

Sam nods and smiles bitterly. He’s teary-eyed when he looks up, whispers out, “thank you,” and that’s all they say until the bus comes.

And then Sam’s stuff goes on the bus and Sam’s arms go around Dean and they hug for the last time for a few months, and he’s boarding the bus and holding his head up high and looking terrified when Dean sees his face in the window. And then he’s gone. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hi!! Usual warnings apply, such as disordered eating and vomit things. Also some homo/bi phobia, depression and numbers - not much, literally just the one instance of calorie numbers but if you find that kind of thing triggering it happens very early on in the chapter, after the first ~ and before the second ~ if you want to avoid it.  
> (Psst I've indefinitely quit dieting it's very freeing I think I like it) 
> 
> And when you comment my heart bursts into rainbows and puppies and all sorts of happy things :)  
> xoxo Cait

Sammy’s gone and Dean’s… here. In theory. In reality, he’s lost. Free, untethered and ungrounded, and confused. Like there’s a fog over his head, like he’s in a daze and like he’s gonna throw up every minute. Maybe he does, Dean isn’t sure. He knows Bobby tries to talk to him a lot and every time he checks his phone, there’s a bunch of missed calls and unanswered texts, and he tries, he really tries to look at them and read them, but there’s more every time and Dean doesn’t get it. There’s a vague idea in his head about what’s going on but it doesn’t make sense to him, he doesn’t know if he’s eaten or slept - doesn’t know much about anything.

His clothes are baggy on him, that’s something he knows. Dean’s jeans slip further and further down his hips and everything is loose in ways they’ve never been.

It’s Dean and his mind, going round and round and around. So it goes, he’s Billy Pilgrim and sometimes baby Sammy cries to him in the corner and other times Dean’s alone in the room and it’s dark and quiet and no one’s in the other bed.

The fog is comforting; it cushions him from the harshness of the world. But at work, it means he slips up. Cracks his head getting out of the car so often there’s a persistent bruise and a scab every time he looks in the mirror. Bruises everywhere, in fact; mostly on his knees and scabs on his knuckles, but scabbed lips from biting and bruises up and down his legs. Somehow the nail on his big toe is coming off, which is kind of gross, and Dean has no idea what happened to it.

Finally, a loud voice breaks through his confusion, if the trunk lid slamming on his hands didn’t work. “Dean!” Bobby shouts, pulling the spanner out of his swollen hand. “You’re damn near killing yourself here,” he says furiously. “Get back in that house and get some fucking rest and don’t come back until you’ve had some proper sleep, god damn it!”

Dean goes pliant, letting Bobby lead him inside and up the stairs, near to tucking him in before leaving again. He strips to shirt and shorts and gets under his covers, staring at Sam’s pillow until his vision blurs and he’s not sure if he’s awake or asleep. Bobby comes back some time later, saying he’s out for the evening and is Dean going to be okay? But Dean can hardly blink at him, so tired but unable to keep his eyes closed.

Dad’s not been around for a while. Dean should care, but the room is spinning and the moon shines down to where Sam’s head should be. God, how pathetic.

Sam’s bed smells like Sam, and there’s a pile of books Dean trips over when he gets up because his phone’s ringing in his jacket pocket under a pile of dirty laundry.

It’s Sam. Dean grips the phone like it’s his only lifeline, listens to Sam talking about his new job, how awesome the place is and how he’s made a couple of college friends already. They talk for about an hour, the most alive Dean’s felt since Sam’s left. And then they say goodbye.

His life has been Sam since he was four years old and Mom died. Even with Sam in hospital for a couple of months, he was less than an hour’s drive. He pulls out a bottle of scotch from under the bed, and starts drinking, sitting against the wall.

Of his many missed calls - Ellen, Jo, Benny, to name a few - there’s eight from Cas, and a bunch of text messages. Dean calls Cas, though he’s not sure what he says. His face is wet by the end of it and he’s finding breathing hard and finally he pleads, “I need you,” before hanging up and curling in on himself.

And then the lights turn on and there’s a hand on his cheek, pulling him up to the light. Cas’s face swims in and out of vision, blurry from booze and sleep deprivation, maybe he’s just a hallucination. No, hallucinations don’t swear and reach out looking sad, their hands aren’t soothing against Dean’s face. Cas pulls Dean’s face up, hands cupping Dean’s face.

“Oh, my friend,” Cas whispers, and he kneels down and presses his lips to Dean’s forehead. He says more but Dean can’t make out what he’s saying, not with his thick disorientated head and not with Cas’s head so close to his. And then he’s being tugged upwards to standing, and the world spins and grays out but Cas has him and is peering at him worriedly, one hand on his cheek and the other holding Dean’s bicep tightly. He’s dropped down onto Sam’s bed and so what if he grabs Cas’s hand and refuses to let go? Cas lets him, and strokes his hand with his thumb, and talks soothingly and reassuringly.

Dean’s mouth is dry and sticky when he wakes up. He takes a deep breath and closes his mouth, pulling his cheeks together to try and get some moisture. Drool cracks on his cheek. Gross.

He starts, hearing a voice, opening his eyes and groaning.

“How are you?” asks Cas, concern apparent in his voice.

“Shit,” Dean says, rolling onto his front. Suddenly, and very vividly, he remembers the night before. His skin prickles and revulsion rises, and Dean wishes Cas away.

“I have water and juice, if you would like it. And I can make some coffee.”

Dean would like for him to leave.

“Breakfast?” The bed creaks as Cas sits down on it.

Go away, he wills.

“Dean?” Cas asks, gentler this time. A hand drops onto Dean’s shoulder. “It’s okay to need people,” he says, his voice gravelly and low.

Dean breathes in the pillow.

“You’re not a machine, you’re human.” Cas exhales heavily. “You’re the most selfless person I’ve met. Dean, you’re one of the best people I’ve ever met and I… I just… I wish you could see that.”

But Cas doesn’t know him. He doesn’t know what’s inside of him, his cruel thoughts, how he lets people down. Cas doesn’t know the big hungry monster, so greedy and needy and how it - he - drives everyone away.

“I’m going to make some coffee,” says Cas, after a minute of silence. “You should at least drink the water. It might make you feel better.”

He sits up when Cas leaves, and the room spins and he decides water is an awesome idea. He hears Cas coming up the stairs and swings his legs off the bed, resting his elbows on his knees. Seems Cas has taken off his pants, because Dean can’t remember stripping down to his shorts.

Cas  hands him a cup of coffee. “Any whisky in that?” Dean asks, blowing on the surface of the coffee.

“No,” Cas replies curtly, sitting down on Dean’s bed.

Dean rubs his eyes. He’s not been awake very long but he’s so fucking tired already, like he could sleep for a year. He runs a hand over his mouth. “Why are you here, Cas?”

Cas, to his credit, doesn’t even look twice. “Because you’re my friend and you needed me.”

Dean flinches.

Cas shakes his head, sighing. “Maybe you should go back to sleep.”

Ouch.

~

Fuck, if only he’d known how easy it was to lose weight. He’s totally in control and the pounds are dropping off, and it’s like food doesn’t even matter to him any more. Dean’s above all of this crap. He doesn’t eat nothing, because that would be dumb and he feels super light-headed when that happened, and he’s twenty six. He doesn’t need someone telling him when he should be eating, and what. He can get by on like a meal a day, with vegetable snacks, and the heavy feeling of starchy food isn’t something he needs.

And sure, okay, there’s been like once or twice, or maybe a bit more, that he’s - that thing. Binged. Whatever. And it’s kind of worse than ever before…

But hey, he’s not a fatass, he’s powerful and in control and…

Anyway. It’s like an extra vibration in his body, he knows he needs it and knows exactly what he’s gonna do. Leave at five promptly, take out a car for a test drive, pick up some groceries and then some, and maybe drive around a little.

It all goes to plan and Dean’s staring at the packaging in the seat next to him, furiously working out how much it all is. In total, roughly at least as he’s rounded some numbers up and he’s never really had a head for numbers, there’s ten thousand calories there.

Ten thousand.

Three thousand five hundred equates to a pound of fat, and that’s almost three pounds of fat he’d gain from this. Not that he can keep it down; his stomach’s churning already and there’s saliva rushing into his mouth. He sees the ten thousand calories - and then some from what else he’s eaten in the day - come up in a bush.

And some blood.

He retches again and there’s more blood, but when Dean rinses out his mouth and spits some more, there’s less blood. He’s fine. There’s blood on his knuckles too, where the skin's broken again from his front teeth.

See? He doesn’t need food.

~

Dean’s kind of really losing it, now. The weight and his.. sanity? Control? Food is the only thing that is important in his life, planning it and buying it and choosing it, eating about once a day and if anything more, it doesn’t stay down. It’s kind of excessive, really, his ribs are prominent and that’s all he’s ever wanted. But it’s important that he doesn’t eat more than a certain amount. Important enough that it keeps him up at night, with hunger and fear, important enough that he’s a length of string that he likes to use to measure his waist and thighs, with little markers on it, and God forbid he goes over them.

That’s not something he’s done before.

There’s a forkful of lasagna left on his plate. If he eats it, he’s lost. He has to leave some now. He can beat food, he isn't gonna be anything like Tubby Losechester anymore. And it’s not like there’s anyone around to are that Dean’s ribs are showing. He’s found out what happened to Dad, why he’s been so rarely showing his face, and the truth makes him want to puke.

Dean goes up to his room one day after working in the garage, and there’s a note on his bed on top of Dad’s battered old journal.

 _Dean_ , the note reads.

 _I’m sorry. I haven’t made your life easy, I know._ And it continues in that way, Dad incriminating himself and trying to apologize for everything, it seems. Including the worst thing, something Dean hadn’t ever thought possible.

A son. Another sprog, with some other blonde chick. Dad’s in love with Mom, always and forever. He’s still got a picture of her on his bedside table, him and her together, happy. And the greatest injustice isn’t that he’s slept with other chicks, because Dean and Sam have always known Dad’s not exactly celibate, and sure it’s shitty of him to have another kid he’s ignored for so long.

But now he’s forgetting his past, leaving Dean with Bobby, casting him aside for a whole other family. Casting aside them - the Winchesters, Mary Campbell’s kids.

So the runs have to be an allotted time and speed; Dean's made a playlist of The Speed and keeps pace to them, and it's great because with every run he can see how much better he is. Every month it's gonna be longer and faster, and it's awesome because he's totally in control.

(When he does ninety down a highway, he knows if he swerves a tiny bit he could die, totally gone, and that makes power and adrenaline and fear race through him but he can't let it touch him, he won't let it touch him - but he could do it.)

Anyway. Dad's got a better son now. Adam, his name is. Cute, blond, top of the class and totally into baseball.

Adam has a mom.

Adam has a mom who Dad's fucked. A few times, probably. They like each other enough to move in together - Dean's gonna throw up.

Sorry, Sammy, he looks up at the sky with sweat dripping down his back, tired and light-headed from his sprint. Can't even keep your own father around, what a waste of shitting space. It's the one thing Dean does, keep his family together.

And then, all of a sudden, it's fine again. Sam comes home for two weeks over Christmas, in a total mess. His hair brushes his collar and bangs hide his eyes, he's chewing on his lips and fingers and eyeing Dean with worry while he assures them he's got a great new sponsor called Jody. Dean doesn't want to crush him with Dad news, so he doesn't, letting Sam go off for drinks with Gabe and Cas.

Dean’s been avoiding Cas. Avoiding most of his friends really, but Cas most of all. Cas’s intense gaze, seeing Dean for all he is… no, he can’t deal with that. Not all that much he can deal with, currently. And definitely not Sam’s nagging about Dad.

“Just fucking tell me where he is!” Sam explodes, his pitching getting higher at the end of the sentence.

The other brother’s prerogative; taunt or yell. Always a fun decision, gets to denote the course of the argument. Remind Sammy who’s in control here.

“Just tell me where he is,” Dean imitates in a falsetto voice.

“Dean, I’m not messing about here,” Sam shouts back. Unfortunately, it’s in a rough, low voice which Dean would find harder to mock, but he goes with what he’s got.

“Oh, not messing about are you? Gloves are off, huh?” He wonders how far he can take it before Sam flounces off upstairs, but Sam’s jaw is tight in a defiant expression and it’s not right to keep this from Sam. Dean just wants to keep it to himself for a while. Bobby knows, of course he does, but they don’t talk about it and Dean can pretend it’s not real when no one acknowledges it.

“Sam - I don’t…” Dean looks away, dropping his shoulders and with them the fight. “He’s gone for a while, okay? He gave me a note and the journal -”

“HIs journal?” Sam asks sharply. “The journal he hit me for touching once?”

Dean flinches. “Yeah, that one.”

“Have you read it?”

Dean’s skimmed through it, and then he threw it at the wall. “Nah,” he says.

Sam drops his eyes, chest heaving as he breathes deeply to calm down. “So, what did the letter say?”

Dean licks his lip. “Look, Sam-“

“No,” Sam cuts across him. “Tell me.”

Dean looks down, exhaling as he shakes his head. He looks back up at Sam and presses his lips together. “You’re not gonna like it.”

“I don’t expect to.”

“He…” ah, shit this is hard. “Dad, he’s got a new family.”

Whatever Sam had been expecting, it clearly wasn’t this. He gapes at Dean. “What?”

“Yeah… this little kid, Adam, some woman called Kate or…”

Sam looks like he’s been slapped. “How old?”

“I don’t know, ten or something?”

“Fuck. I - fuck,” says Sam, sitting down heavily at the table. Dean sits across from him, breathing heavily although he’s not sure why. “Yeah. It’s where he is now.”

“I can’t believe him,” says Sam his eyes searching the table. “Is he gonna be with them over Christmas?”

Dean shrugs.

“I can’t believe him,” Sam repeats, and stands up suddenly. “Where are they?”

“Why?” Dean asks, growing wary.

“I’m gonna tell him how shitty this is,” Sam says, defiant as ever. “He’s got to know this isn’t right, he can’t do this to us. Take me to him.”

“Sammy, come on. You’re not serious.”

Sam raises his voice. “Of course I am! He can’t do this to us, Dean. To you! I’m tired of all his shit, and you should be too.”

Of course Dean’s tired of Dad’s shit. He’s fucking exhausted, and Sam’s not helping that.

“I’m calling him.” Sam pulls out his cellphone. Dean stands up and lunges across the table for it, vividly imagining Dad and Sam’s fights ruining Dad’s new family too.

Sam pulls away from him, swearing, so Dean grabs him from behind, kicking away the chair. He gets an elbow to his nose for his trouble, so Dean punches Sam in the nuts. It’s dirty and crude but it works, and Dean snags Sam’s cell and stuffs it down the front of his boxers.

Sam cradles his balls with a red face. “That wasn’t fair,” he gasps, unable to breathe or articulate properly, but Dean’s nose really fucking hurts.

“You can’t do that, Sam,” Dean snaps, rubbing his nose. “It’s not their fault, don’t pull Kate and Adam into this too.”

Sam remains silent, hunched over on himself.

“This is on Dad,” Dean says firmly. “If you’re got to take it out on him, do it here, man. Don’t do it around them, they’re innocent.”

Sam sniffs as Dean pats his back reassuringly. The door opens and Bobby comes in, a green trucker hat on his head, surveying their mess. He eyes Sam sceptically and shakes his head at Dean as Sam slowly uprights himself.

“You told him,” Bobby says, pulling pieces of broken glass off of the table. Dean didn’t even notice they broke a glass.

Sam scowls and tightens his lips. “Where’s my cell, Dean?”

Dean holds up his free hands.

“Dean, c’mon, where is it?”

Dean glances down to his groin and up again, smirking.

Sam pulls an expression of disgust. “Gross! How old are you? God, you’ve probably got chlamydia or something,” he huffs.

Bobby rolls his eyes at the two of them and claps a hand on the back of Sam’s neck. “You okay, kid?”

There’s still anger in Sam’s eyes, bright and unsettling, but he’s holding it in. It’s a waiting game now. He’ll hold it in and it’ll grow and boom and flourish until Sam lays eyes on Dad again, and there it’ll release, a cloud of toxic gas to poison them all.

Dean’s so fucking hungry.

Sam goes up to dispel of some of his anger, stomping up the stairs like he did as an angry teenager. Bobby approaches Dean with the air of approaching an upset dog, gently and talking in a soothing tone. Dean scowls.

“Your friend Cas keeps calling the house. You two not talking or something?”

Bobby doesn’t know what happened that night a month ago, when Dean was cradled by his straight friend like a baby, and it’s not something Dean’s desperate for Bobby to know.

“We’re not little kids fighting over toys, Bobby, come on.”

Bobby sighs heavily. “Boy, you listen here, and you listen good. I want you to hear this and take it into that thick head of yours. Talking about your feelings makes you no less of a man.”

“C’mon, Bobby-“

Bobby interrupts him. “Siddown,” he commands, and Dean obeys. “Your daddy is one of my oldest friends. Now, there’s a hell of a lot I don’t agree with when it comes to John, and like hell you know that.” Bobby pauses, pulling out a chair from the table and sitting opposite him. Dean needs some bourbon or something to get through this, he can tell.

“When my wife died, where Karen died, your dad helped me through that a lot. Your mom too. We talked feelings, I even cried, and you know what?”

Dean can’t meet his eyes. Bobby’s voice is low and clear, a world away from his usual gruff brushings off. “I wouldn’t have survived without doing all of that. Everyone needs someone they can talk to about anything, someone who’s always gonna love you, and when I lost Karen, I lost that person. But there’s always someone who wants to listen.”

Dean stares very intently at his bitten, dirty fingernails.

“Kid,” Bobby starts to smile, “You gotta let us help you.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say. He licks his lips a couple of times, running a hand over his mouth. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Got a lot on your shoulders, son. Don’t all have to rest there,” Bobby says firmly. “I was gonna have some pasta, you interested?”

~

The first week passes uneventfully. Snow falls, thick on the ground as Sam bottles up his anger, holding it in the way only Sam can do. Dean assumes Dad’s hiding from them, worried about how Dean and Sam might react if they see the old man. And seeing how Sam’s jaw clenches when Dean wears Dad’s old leather jacket, or how he rubs the palm of his hand looking at the door of Dad’s room, well, if Dean were Dad, he’d hide away too.

Even though Sam’s supposed to be on winter break, he’s still got a huge amount of work to do. He’s set up a work station in the main room and likes to bitch good naturedly at anyone who wants to watch tv in the same room. There’s nothing good on at seven in the evening, so Dean’s channel surfing and looking through the messages between him and Cas, most of which are one way from Cas to him over the past month.

A bottle of beer gives him the courage he needs to text Cas, apologizing for the radio silence and saying he’s had family issues. Cas calls almost immediately after the messages sends, but Dean lets the phone vibrate on the arm of the couch. Sam looks up from his essay at Dean’s phone, vibrating merrily.

“Gabe says you’ve not seen Cas for a while,” Sam says easily. “Cas misses you.”

“Mm,” Dean says, flicking through the car magazine on the coffee table. “Been busy.”

“Busy. Right,” Sam scoffs. “You know he and his long term girlfriend broke up?” Sam asks, clearly knowing the answer.

“Sure. Meg, I met her a couple of times. She seemed cool, it’s a shame,” Dean replies nonchalantly.

“Must be hard for him, he and Meg were together for ages.” Sam pauses to write a sentence. “Do you know how long they were together for?”

Dean shrugs. “I don’t know. Eight years or something stupid? They got together in college.”

“Long time,” muses Sam.

Dean sighs. “Where are you going with this?”

Sam rolls his eyes at Dean. “Can’t you tell? His girlfriend broke up with him and now he’s losing his best friend? Nice, Dean, real nice. Why’d they break up anyway?”

“He likes someone else.”

“Oh, really? He said that to you?” asks Sam, casually.

Dean flushes. “I – yeah, he said it to me-“

“What did you think, when he aid it?”

Dean stands up, suddenly furious. “Fuck you, Sam. I don’t – what you’re implying – fuck, I’m not –“

“Not what?” There’s a gleam in Sam’s eyes, and his jaw is set and he’s wearing his old challenging face, back when they were in school together and Sam knew everything and Dean knew nothing.

“I don’t - I’m not -” Dean stammers and then swears loudly. ‘Fuck! Fucking - fuck!”

Sam seems finally to notice Dean’s panic. He stands up and comes to Dean, holding his hands up, keeping his distance. “Woah - Dean, man, it’s okay. You know I love you whatever?”

Whatever.

Dean’s gonna throw up.

“I’m cool with you, you know that,” Sam says hesitantly, reaching out to touch Dean’s shoulder.

And then Dean’s off, running to the bathroom to vomit up the small dinner he’s had. Sam swears, following him, kneeling beside him as he pukes, Sam’s hand reassuringly stroking Dean’s back.

“Sorry,” mutters Sam a few minutes later, as they sit side by side in the bathroom, breathing heavily. “I shouldn’t - I - do things in your own time Dean. Sorry.”

But he hasn’t said the word, he’s not put anything out there in the world, even if they can both feel it.

“But - uh,” Sam coughs. “You and Cas - there’s something there, right?”

There can’t be. Dean tips his head back and shuts his eyes, breathing hard.

“Gabe’s cool with anything. And um, I don’t know how much Cas has told you about their family but there’s a lot there.” Sam rubs the palm of his hand. “And - uh, you’re looking kind of thin, Dean. Worrying me a little.”

“Now that’s my job,” Dean says, dropping his head forward again. “I worry about you, not the other way around.”

Sam pulls a face. “You’ve worried about me and Dad for twenty years. Can’t I worry about you now?”

~

Dad comes home. And Sam’s anger, brewing nicely for a week and a bit, and Sam screams at him as soon as he comes in through the door. He screams and shrieks and yells, anger Dean’s not seen in him since he was on the drugs, or just coming off them. And Dad just takes it. That’s the biggest surprise, how he just stands there and lets Sam yell at him. Dean stands to the side and watches, and Dad doesn’t get in Sam’s face and Dean doesn’t have to worry about violence.

Sam rants about how Dad can do this to them, how could he not tell them. How come he’s left it until the kid is so old, how come he’s never here when they need him. How can he do this to Mom. That’s the one Dean’s sure Dad’s gonna fight back about. He and Dean have awful tempers when it comes to Mary Winchester; Dean never fought back much when he was bullied as a kid but if someone mentioned his mom, he’d become furious.

And then Sam changes tack quickly, can’t Dad see what he’s doing to Dean? And they look at him, all in shock like none of them can believe what Sam’s just said, and Dad has no idea what he means.

Dad shakes his head. “Merry Christmas, Sammy,” he says, dropping the duffle he’s been carrying on the floor. “You’re right, totally. I am sorry, believe me I am.” He smiles through the tears in his eyes. “And I’ll bet you boys don’t want me here for Christmas. Is there anything else you want to say to me, Sammy?”

Sam sniffs hard. He appears very taken aback by how Dad’s reacting, his angry face falling. “No,” he says, quietly. “I want my childhood back.”

Dad nods and tears fall down his cheeks.

Dad doesn’t cry, not like this. Not sober, not when he’s been told off by his son.

“I’m sorry, Sammy. I didn’t mean for all of this.” Dad turns to Dean. “And Dean, I…” Dad shakes his head. “I should have been there more, Dean. You took care of me and Sammy, and I shouldn’t have done that to you. It isn’t the life I wanted for either of you and… Mary would be so disappointed in me.”

“Is everything okay, Dad?” Sam asks in a small voice.

Dad nods shakily. “She’d be so proud of you both, I want you to know that.”

Sam looks to Dean, concerned and fearful.

Dean takes to his role. “Why are you saying all this, Dad?”

Dad smiles. “Because you boys have a right to know these things.”  He claps a hand on Sam’s shoulder and Dean’s so grateful to Sam for not brushing him off. He looks at them both again and nods with a sense of finality, picks up his duffle and then he’s out the door and the car’s pulling away.

“He’s not going to do something stupid, is he?” Sam asks.

Dean shrugs. “How was that for an early Christmas present?”

Christmas day is quiet. They usually spend Christmas in an understated fashion, but this year it goes that bit further. It’s just Sam, Dean and Bobby, no guest appearances by Ellen and Jo. Rumsfeld is there too, but he spends most of the time farting and sleeping.

“Dumb dog,” Dean says, tripping over him. Rumsfeld wags his tail limply and breathes out a smelly breath in Dean’s general direction. Bobby chucks a special dog bone to him and it lands a few feet shy, and the lazy dog doesn’t even get up. Dean remembers being scared of him when he was younger, when Rumsfeld wasn’t sure about Dean and would bark and growl, terrifying the fuck out of Dean. He’s a waste of space now, really, Dean thinks, scratching his head and rubbing his soft ears, putting the chew just in front of his mouth. Rumsfeld wags his tail appreciatively.

There’s pie and chicken and lots of starch, and Dean decides to fuck it and pay for it the next day. It’s hard to ignore the voice that nags with how many calories he’s eating, and does he knows how much fat and sugar is in this, and he tries to quell it.

They drink beer and toast to everything they can think of and then settle down in front of It’s A Wonderful Life, while Dean bitches about the lack of liquorices. He tries calling Dad about half the way through the movie, but there’s no answer, so he texts Cas.

Sorry, he writes. Bit fuckd up rn but merry xmas nd thnk u

And then he turns his phone off.

Sam goes home shortly after New Year. He’s got friends to see and a job to go to, apparently, and it’s Dean and Bobby again. When Bobby’s not at Ellen’s, of course. They’re a proper couple now, Ellen comes over when she can but Bobby usually goes to hers given her working hours. Probably move in together one of these days, which is gonna be weird as fuck.

The snow on the ground falls thick and fast. Dean watches the fat flakes float down with his head against the window pane, looking through all of his missed calls from Cas. It’s not like he doesn’t want to speak to Cas, because he misses him like fuck, it’s just that he’s been trying to ignore Cas for a while now and the idea of the confrontation scares the crap out of him.

He hears the revving of an engine and a car comes into view. Not Dad’s huge truck, not Bobby’s car. It’s an expensive, pretentious sort of car, the kind that rarely rolls into the garage. Dean knows that car. Looks like he can’t hide forever.

There’s an angry hammering at the door, which Dean stays away from. But when Bobby left, he didn’t lock the door, and Cas turns the handle and stands in the doorway, furious and soaking wet. He stalks up to Dean and Dean thinks he’s gonna punch him, flinching back automatically.

“Will you goddamn answer your phone,” he hisses in Dean’s face. “Do you know what I have done for you? God!” Cas turns away angrily, giving Dean a moment to stare in shock. Cas doesn’t swear. He’s highly religious, and hates to ‘take the Lord’s name in vain’ or something.

“I gave up Meg for you,” Cas growls, facing Dean again, right in his face, “and this is how you repay me? Silence, for fucking weeks. Months, Dean!”

Dean blinks. “You - you did what?” he says dumbly.

Cas grabs Dean’s shoulder, making Dean flinch again. “I broke up with my girlfriend of eight year, because I stopped loving her and - “ he blows the air out of his nose angrily. “Because I realized I preferred someone else.”

Cas scowls at him, eyes bright with rage but Dean stares, kind of hopeful but mostly terrified. Dean starts to say something but stops before the words come to his mouth, he looks all around the room and back to Cas, drops his eyes and then back to Cas again.

Cas bites his lip and smiles bitterly. “It’s you, you goddamn moron.”

The air’s gone from the world. Dean clenches his hands and sucks in a deep breath, aware he could well pass out if he doesn’t focus on breathing. “But you can’t… you’re straight.”

“Bisexual,” Cas corrects, anger draining from his face. He breathes out heavily, letting his shoulders slump down. He runs a hand through his hair and starts to smile gently, like the Cas Dean knows, all the while Dean just stares. “I’m sorry,” he says sincerely. “I shouldn’t have exploded like this.” He shakes his head. “Look at me… My parents would be very disappointed. I don’t - I should go. I have behaved awfully. I have no right to demand attention from you...”

“Don’t,” says Dean, reaching a hand out. “People have said worse to me, don’t beat yourself up about it,” he tries to joke.

Cas frowns. “They shouldn’t have. You don’t deserve…” He shakes his head again. “You deserve people who truly appreciate you,” he says, looking down to Dean’s hand. Cas reaches his own out for it but Dean pulls back, and Cas stands back with his hands raised in apology.

“Sorry,” Cas says again. “I’ll go.”

But Dean shakes his head. “What do you think - what did you - how did - what the fuck did you expect me to say to all of this?” he says, his anger rising.

Cas tilts his head to the side.

“What the fuck do you think I am?” Dean demands.

“I thought you-”

“Yeah, well, I’m not!” Dean shouts, wrapping his arms around himself.

Cas mouths words, trying to work out what to say. “But -”

“But nothing, okay,” Dean spits. “I’m not.”

Cas steps forward. “It’s okay, Dean,” he says, confused and hesitant. “There’s nothing wrong with liking your same gender.”

Dean flinches. “I’m not gay,” he replies hotly.

“I didn’t say you were,” Cas continues smoothly. “And if you were, there’s nothing wrong with it.”

Dean pulls a face.

“What do you think is wrong with it?”

“It’s…” Dean doesn’t know how to say what he means. It’s just the disgusted face of Dad, the disappointment in Sam’s eyes, people watching as he walks down the street holding a man - Cas’s - hand. “It’s not… I don’t want to be.” Dean can’t do this, he needs to go for a run or sleep or drink or eat. He pulls away from Cas and takes an open bottle of bourbon out of Bobby’s liquor cabinet and swallows a mouthful straight off.

“So you don’t like men? I’m wrong?” Cas says carefully, following Dean.

Dean drinks more, coughing as it burns his sensitive throat. He’d been vomiting blood again yesterday, but not much. The internet tells him it’s probably just his tearing his throat, nothing too serious. He’s shaking uncontrollably.

“Are you okay?” Cas asks, in a low voice.

“I can’t be,” Dean mutters, not listening. It’s too quiet for Cas to hear. “I like chicks, okay,” he assures Cas loudly. “I do, I just…”

“Okay,” Cas says gently. “And you also like men?”

Dean drinks some more. He’s not really sure this is happening, the world is floating and he feels distant. It could be all in his head, could be some shitty dream and Dean’s gonna wake up and go to work and not deal with this.

“Has it changed your opinion of me, now you know I don’t only like women?”

Dean knows what Cas is trying to do, but it’s different. Cas is cool. He’s got this whole, smartass soldier buzz, he’d be level and…

He shouldn’t like men. He shouldn’t be bisexual or whatever it is that he is. He’s meant to be badass Dean Winchester, ladies’ man. “I’m not supposed to be,” he says finally.

Cas nods. “For what it’s worth, it shouldn’t matter what you think you’re supposed to be.”

“But it does,” Dean says firmly.

“There is nothing wrong with it.”

Dean shrugs. “People think there is.”

“People are dicks,” says Cas.

“My dad -” Dean says, cutting himself off. He shakes his head and crosses his arms.

Cas changes tack quickly. “Have you eaten?”

Dean nods. He’s eaten today, at least. Maybe not much, and maybe not for a while, but he’s eaten.

Cas eyes him. “I’ll order some pizza.”

“What - no, I’m fine,” protests Dean, to deaf ears.

“You can eat however much you want. Is Bobby out tonight?”

“I think so.” However much you want? What the hell does that mean?

Cas smiles at him, the crinkles in his eyes deepening. “Any good movies?”

“Sure,” Dean waves in the direction of where the DVDs are kept. How does he eat what he wants? He wants to eat it all but he can’t do that. He shouldn’t be eating at all, and pizza? Dripping in fat and grease?

“Beer?”

No, no he can’t. Beer and pizza, Dean can’t do it. He isn’t - that and he can’t have all of that and Dean rests his head on the wall. Cas’s hands are warm on his back, pulling him off the wall and over to the couch.

And then he puts on Clueless.

“I own this film?” Dean asks in weary disgust. “It must be Sammy’s.”

Cas passes him a beer and tells him to sit down, throwing a blanket over him like it’s not Dean’s house. He plants a pizza in front of Dean, a whole one, a full out takeaway pizza all hot and greasy.

Dean can’t take a bite because if he does, he won’t be able to stop. He shakes his head, saying he’s not hungry.

“Everyone’s hungry for pizza,” Cas says mildly, chewing on his own slice.

“I’m not,” Dean says sullenly. Cas’s blase attitude to the whole thing is rubbing badly on him.

“Sure you are,” replies Cas, sliding in next to Dean, so close their knees bump. Dean tenses. He doesn’t eat, he can’t do it with Cas so close to him. Cas has eaten about half of his own pizza, and Dean could eat the same amount as him, but the fear of not being able to stop is enough to keep him away from it.

They drink a few beers and Dean’s tension dissipates. Cas says no more about the food and slowly their legs press together, a line of Dean and a line of Cas. Shitty movie follows shitty movie, and before Dean knows it his head is lolling against Cas’s shoulder.

“So, you desire men?” Cas asks nonchalantly, pulling the blanket more around Dean.

“Mmm,” Dean says, finishing his beer.

“And women?”

“Mmm,” Dean repeats. He’s getting tired.

“And non-binary people?”

“Hm?”

“You know,” Cas explains. “Bigender or genderqueer, or agender or genderfuild…”

“Mmm.” He can’t imagine not being attracted to someone just because of their gender.

“So you’re bisexual?”

Dean shrugs his shoulders. Cas pulls out another beer and offers it to Dean. He takes it. He’s probably drank too much by this point but Dean’s not eating so it’s okay.

“I guess.”

At some point Cas’s arm comes over and rests on Dean, but Dean’s drunk and tired and it’s very comforting, and it’s so very tempting just to close his eyes and let Cas’s warmth comfort him to sleep.

~

It’d be nice if Dean woke like this every day. Cocooned in warmth, a solid heartbeat by his ear, an arm over his chest, heavy and comforting. Dean’s stupid phone alarm ringing causes Cas to groan and curl up over Dean, who smiles to himself before pushing Cas off.

“You’re like a fucking octopus,” Dean grumbles, though he doesn’t mean it and he presses his body back against Cas’s to show he doesn’t. “How many limbs do you even have?”

Cas twists around to frown at him, confused. “I have four limbs,” he says, stretching out his neck.

Dean sits up. “Dude,” he shakes his head as he grins, stretching out his arms. “I set you up for a perfect dick joke.”

But Cas tilts his head the way he does, like a lost puppy or something. Dean rolls his eyes in an exaggerated fashion. “Nevermind.”

He’s getting too old to sleep on a couch with someone else. Rubbing his neck, Dean’s very tempted to go straight to bed but Bobby must be back by now.

Bobby. Fuck.

Dean freezes and Cas pauses from rubbing his eyes. “Are you okay?” he asks sleepily.

“Bobby. Shit, did he come in?” Dean runs a hand over his mouth. He stands up and looks out the window across the porch, to where Cas’s car is. Bobby’s lies next to it. They’re in the main room which means Bobby’s come by and inside, and he can’t have missed Dean and Cas fucking intertwined on the couch.

“I don’t know,” Cas replies simply, giving him a very distinct look, but Dean doesn’t get what he’s trying to say. Not that he cares, because the panic is rising in him now.

“Aren’t you running late?” Dean turns back to Cas and pulls the blanket off him, folding it and putting it over the back of the couch.

“Um - I suppose,” Cas says gruffly, his voice deeper from sleep.

Dean hands Cas his shoes, not caring about any social niceties and scratches at his forearms anxiously.

“Sorry, Cas,” he says, “but you get that…” he flounders, trying to say get the fuck out without being rude.

“Do you think that perhaps one day we could have a proper conversation? It’s always an apology, Dean, and you don’t need it,” says Cas, vaguely irritably.

Don’t need it? Dean’s life is a fucking apology. “You want a proper conversation?” he asks, fired up.

Cas doesn’t reply.

“Tonight, then,” Dean says, glancing at the clock. He should really shower before facing Bobby, work out what he’s gonna say. He’s got the whole of work to decide what to say to Cas, and thinking about it makes him realize he actually has a lot to say.

Cas nods again at the obvious dismissal. He gathers his stuff up, puts trash in the bin like a good houseguest.

“I put the leftover pizza in the fridge,” he says, standing awkwardly in front of Dean, with his unbuttoned rumpled shirt having out of his slacks. “I am truly sorry about before,” Cas says, and he leans forward to peck Dean on the cheek. Dean stares after him as he goes, touching the spot on his cheek absently.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate writing.   
> Usual ED warnings apply.   
> Sorry for lateness, I also hate periods. Cait xoxo

Clean and shaven, Dean enters the garage and Bobby doesn’t look twice at him. “Mornin’, Dean,” he yells out, as cheery as Bobby can be. Dean holds up a hand in greeting and feels the sweat drop down his back. No one looks at him twice either - it’s like no one knows that he spent the night curled up with another dude on the couch.

Bobby stops by his work briefly, says Dean’s doing a good job and then vanishes before Dean can say anything back, and Dean can breathe easier.

Well, he could, until Gordon approaches him with a work-related question. And they discuss and have differing opinions and eventually it’s an argument, and then Gordon pulls the trump card.

“Like you know what you’re talking about, fag,” Gordon says coolly.

The word jolts through Dean and he slams his hand down on the table. “The hell you call me?” he demands.

“You heard. Faggot,” Gordon replies, cocking his head and opening his mouth to show off the gum he’s chewing.

Fight or flight has never been so prominent in Dean. He could punch Gordon in the face or run upstairs like a little girl.

It’s not a hard choice. Dean swings the whole side of his body, slamming his fist into Gordon’s face. Gordon swears and lands a sucker punch on Dean.

Dean’s been in a fair few fights in his time, and he goes down a lot less easily than Gordon, so he socks Gordon in the stomach and gets a hand around his throat in return - until there’s someone in the middle of them and neither Dean nor Gordon is gonna hit Reggie.

Dean slams his fist against the wall and spits out blood on the floor.

“What the hell was that?” Reggie demands, his normally cheerful face pulled stern.

“I’ll tell you what,” says Gordon, disgust on his face. “I’m not working with some fucking homo.”

Dean waits for Reggie to turn against him and join Gordon but Reggie simply shrugs. “You fucking serious, Gordo? You give a fuck who he sleeps with? Who any of us sleeps with?”

“Hey!” Bobby yells from behind Dean. Dean jumps. “What’s happening in here?” He looks from Gordon to Dean in that expression that makes Dean feel like a little kid.

There’s a pregnant pause. Dean looks to Reggie, his face on fire, and the sweat is just pouring off him now. Dean’s heart has never beaten this fast and he’s having trouble focusing on breathing. It’s a panic attack, he can feel it coming, he’s gonna be fine, he’s had them before - but what if he’s not?

God, he doesn’t need this now.

Dean breathes slowly, seeing the corners of his vision gray out, as Bobby assess the situation. He takes in Dean’s red face and swelling cheek, the blood on his lip, how Gordon’s clutching his stomach and his bloody nose.

Bobby sighs. “Dean, you wanna come into my office?”

It’s not a question.

“And Gordon. Think you might be on cleanup duty this week.”

Gordon scowls. “Fine.”

The world is gray and Dean can’t really move, and he knows that Reggie and Bobby are looking at him. He wishes they weren’t.

Reggie grabs Dean’s shoulders, but he kind of can’t feel it. It’s there, it’s happening, but it’s like it’s not happening to him. “Hey, now, Winchester. Breathe, man,”

“I got him,” Bobby says gruffly, his hand on Dean’s arm. “Dean, you with me?” He leads him along to the office and sits him down on the chair. “Head between your knees, son,” Bobby says, lightly pushing Dean’s head down.

Slowly his vision returns and with it his awareness.

“So, what was that all about?”

Dean shakes his head. “Nothin’,” he says.

Bobby frowns. “You don’t usually go about punching Gordon. Thought you guys were buddies, huh?”

“Gordon’s a dick,” Dean replies sullenly.

“Since when?”

Dean refuses to talk and Bobby doesn’t press, he just claps Dean on the back and says he’s going to find Reggie. Dean wants to talk to Cas. Cas would tell him… what, just to accept it?

Nah, Dean thinks about soldier Cas. Cas who showed up last night, Cas who pitched an argument with a man who left his dog in the car on a hot day. Cas wouldn’t let him accept this homophobia.

But Dean deserves it. He wouldn’t want to work with some homo either, what if they check him out when he’s working? Shirt riding up to show his bare skin, some guy getting hard thinking of him… he wouldn’t be safe in his own workplace.

Bobby comes back and sits down on the chair in front of Dean, sympathy on his face.

“It’s disgusting,” Dean says with a hollow voice.

“Huh?”

Dean looks down at himself, pulling a pained expression. “This. Me.” He breaks off with a bitter laugh. “I mean - I know you saw, Bobby.”

“You love who you love,” Bobby says, making it sound so fucking easy.

“What, you’re just - you’re cool with it?”

Bobby pours out some whisky into a tumbler and swallows it down quickly. “I can’t say it’s my favorite thing about you,” Bobby says slowly. “And God knows I don’t come from the best generation for this, and your daddy ain’t gonna be too happy about it either but… can’t help who you love.” Bobby shakes his head. “I am too old for all this crap. We done?”

“Give me a few minutes,” Dean says weakly. His heart still hasn’t slowed down properly.

“I’ll go talk to Gordon.” Bobby’s knees creak as he stands up. Dean flashes him a grateful smile as he leaves the room. Checking his phone, he finds Cas has invited him over for the evening. He wears his usual fifteen fucking layers to go over, and they sit next to each other on Cas’s couch, cradling beers.

“So,” Dean chews on his lip. “I - uh, I’m-” Just say it, Dean. Fucking say it. Cas knows, everyone fucking knows, just fucking.

Cas reaches his hand gingerly forward, and Dean inches his hand closer as an invitation. He breathes in a deep breath when Cas strokes his hand, all of his senses focused into that small patch of skin.

“So, I’m like, half a fucking homo,” Dean says, pulling his lip into his mouth.

“No,” Cas says, frowning.

Dean stiffens and pulls his hand back. “What? It’s not okay?”

“No - sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I dislike your phrasing,” Cas says quickly, with wide, apologetic eyes, frantically trying not to offend Dean. “For one, if you were to choose to identify as bisexual, that is in itself its own sexual orientation. It’s not half of anything. And the other - well.”

Dean plays with the label on his bottle. He nods, scratching at his forearms. “Yeah, okay,” he says quietly.

Maybe half an hour later, as they watch tv, Dean’s ready. “I’m bi, Cas,” he says, staring fixated at the tv.

Cas smiles. “Thank you for telling me,” he says. “It means a lot that you trust me.”

Fuck. Goddamn, fuck. “That’s it?” Dean croaks, the beige room swimming before his eyes.

“If you want that to be it,” says Cas, and no that doesn’t fucking help. Dean needs Cas to decide for him. There’s a picture of Cas and Gabe together on the mantlepiece, and a picture of Cas and all of his siblings and his parents, Dean presumes. The red hair grabs his attention - the girl next to Cas, he knows her. Cas’s sister Anna.

Anna, the girl he slept with a few months ago.

No wonder he loved her eyes so much.

And there’s still a couple of pictures of Cas and Meg together, but only ones with other friends with them. There’s a picture of him and Cas together as well, Dean realizes, and his heart jolts.

Dean runs his hand over his mouth. “They know at the garage.”

“Is that the explanation behind the injuries?” asks Cas, concerned.

Dean nods and wets his lips.

“I find some people to be very obtuse,” Cas says slowly. “They think everything should be one way and it is difficult to comprehend the other side.”

“Gordon jacks off to lesbian porn, so he’s clearly cool with it,” Dean snarks.

Cas doesn’t reply. He sits back in the couch and stretches his legs so his big toe pokes out through the hole in his sock. Dean watches it wiggle, mesmerized.

Cas pulls a face. “It can be very difficult for people to agree with something when they've been told it's wrong their whole lives.”

Dean snorts. “Look, I get why they don’t like it. I don’t like it. It’s not - it’s not right.”

Cas tilts his head. “Being attracted to your same gender isn’t right?”

“There’s a fucking reason they’re called queers,” Dean says hotly, shifting in his seat.

“They?”

Dean flushes to the tops of his ears. “We,” he mutters weakly. “It isn’t right. No one should - fuck.”

Cas reaches for the remote and turns the volume down on the tv. “It can be very difficult to accept this sort of thing, Dean. Do you like all the hatred you have for yourself?”

Dean stares at him, dumbfounded. What the hell kind of question is that? Does Dean like how he looks in the mirror and hates what he sees staring back? Does Dean enjoy spending most evenings cradling the toilet cistern because he’s got fuck all self control, that he spent a time in his teenage years cutting open his arms only to find it didn’t help him in the slightest?

Dad’s disappointment in Dean was always reflected back at Dean by his peers and by himself - until he lost the weight. That’s all Dad ever cared about, so how much Dean likes himself depends on it. And it’s really fucking exhausting.

As ever, Cas reads Dean’s face like a book. Cas reaches out for Dean’s hand again, and Dean offers his.

“You don’t need it,” he says.

Don’t need it? It’s all Dean has.

Cas’s breath is very warm on Dean’s face. “What you are is good.”

Dean’s mouth slips open just the slightest.

The hands come up to Dean’s face and cradle him, like how he’s not been touched since his mother died. A touch that’s soft and loving, eyes watching him like he’s enough. And then Cas leans in and kisses him.

Kissing Cas isn’t how Dean had expected, from his hours of thinking about it. His chapped lips are warm and comforting and Dean smiles against them, and Cas pulls away. It’s chaste, very chaste. Cute, almost. And certainly not enough.

“Is this okay?” Cas asks, barely an inch from Dean’s face.

“Oh, yeah,” Dean replies, blushing when his voice catches. His hands come up to Cas’s lapel and he pulls Cas in, onto his lap how he might a girl. It’s not like with a girl, though. The bulge that brushes his belly. Shit, it’s been a long time since Dean was with a guy, over ten years, and the bulge makes him shrink back, he so can’t do this. Dad’s angry face swims into his head, the tone of utter revulsion, Sam’s disappointment, Bobby’s disgust.

But Bobby won’t be disgusted, he tries to remind himself. He’s not been disgusted. And Sam won’t be disappointed.

He doesn’t convince himself, and Cas’s hands weave their way back into Dean’s, and Cas kisses Dean’s chin, peppering kisses up his jaw line, sucking on the skin near his jugular. Dean feels like he does when he’s ill, that painful sensitivity. Every touch burns him. He pulls away, pushing Cas off him.

“I don’t fucking need this, Cas.”

Cas’s face falls.

Dean backtracks, hating to be the one to put that look on Cas’s face. “Man, I can’t do this, I’ve told you that,” Dean says, his chest getting tighter and tighter. Tears prick his eyes and Dean wipes at his face, horrified.

Cas reaches out for him and Dean jumps up, rushing to the door. “Man, I just-” And he can’t take it anymore. Dean leaves.

He drives around for half an hour before calling Benny to see if he can go there. He sits on Benny’s porch and chain smokes, occasionally sipping at his glass of whisky that Benny keeps topping up.

They don’t talk for a while. Benny’s the kind of person he can sit in silence comfortably. Reliable, dependable Benny. Dean sucks in his fourth cigarette, feeling vaguely sick.

“You know,” Benny drawls, surprising Dean, “My Andrea? She left me for another man. I don’t think I can ever trust someone so much again. Broke my heart, she did,” he laughs at himself sadly.

Dean’s never heard this before.

“I would’ve done anything for her. Still would. She calls me up, I’ll go running.” Benny looks out onto the horizon. He reminds Dean of a sailor, watching over the horizon, a steady force in the unstable seas.

“Turns out, she’d been cheating on me for years. Loved us both, she said. Didn’t want to hurt me, didn’t want to lose me, but couldn’t be without the other man.”

“I’m sorry, Benny,” Dean says in a low voice.

“Life’s a bitch, huh?” Benny chortles, and looks deep into his whisky glass and drinks it down. Benny takes another breath and nudges Dean’s shoulder with his. “Brother, I ran away from it. From her, from my old life. I’m embarrassed, ashamed. Sad, hurt, angry,” he sighs heavily. “And it’s still all here with me, Dean. It’s part of me and it ain’t going away.”

“You ever talk to her?” Dean asks, hoping his friend hasn’t kept torturing himself.

“I wish I didn’t, but I do.”

They sit longer, breath showing up in the cold air. Dean sees a shooting star and is taken back to being on the backyard with Sam, pointing out all the shooting stars and Sammy’s pout when he missed them.

“Take my wish,” Dean had said, to appease him.

“Doesn’t count,” Sam had replied grouchily.

“Sure it does,” Dean threw his arm over Sammy’s shoulders.

“Nuh-uh. How do you know?”

“I’m your big brother. I know everything.”

“I’m bisexual, Benny,” Dean says as the shooting star disappears.

Benny nods. “Yeah?”

Dean sneaks a glance at Benny, who’s sat back, relaxed, watching the stars. He doesn’t look too bothered by what Dean has said, and Dean takes strength from that.

“Yeah,” he says, and the panic isn’t coming.

“You known for a long time?”

The sharp, gray eyes spring to mind, a cocky smirt and a scratchy Sinatra record. “There was a guy when I was a kid,” Dean replies, but he doesn’t elaborate.

Benny’s head moves up and down slowly, eyes fixed on a star. “Thank you for telling me, brother. Means a lot that you trust me with that.”

Dean smiles and looks down. “Yeah, you too.”

Nothing really changes after that. Sam calls and Dean talks, but the calls are always sullied by the farewell. He’s overdue a conversation with Cas, but he ignores that. And he ignores Gordon, ignores all his worry about Dad… Dad calls every now and again, but Dean purposefully misses them. Now he’s started the process of coming out, he’s not all that sure he can be around Dad. Nor Bobby, nor the house. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, so he drives around alone and goes out on long walks and goes out with his friends.

Dean’s kind of removed from everything at this point, so it scares him out of his skin when Sam bursts through the door, his lips red raw and new bracelets up his wrist.

“Jesus!” Dean spills his beer all over himself. “Sam -? What the hell are you doing here?”

Sam stares at him, that old bitchface he gives when Dean’s being a complete moron. Bobby’s close behind him, which explains how Sam got here.

“I would have told you everything yesterday, if you’d told me where the fuck you were,” Bobby grumbles.

Dean was out last night, with Benny, Charlie and Jo, and he got very drunk and came back very late, and didn’t see Bobby at all.

Bobby claps Sam on the back and heads into the kitchen, glaring at Dean as he does. Sam sits down next to Dean, rubbing his hands together.

“It’s Dad,” says Sam in a small voice.

Oh. Really, Dean knows. There’s few reasons why Dad would call him up so often, and the apology at Christmas was so out of character. He doesn’t need Sam to elaborate but he does, with sad puppy eyes and a controlled voice.

“He’s in hospital.”

They can’t go that day, visiting hours would be over by the time they’d get to the hospital, so they spend an anxious evening drinking and watching Top Gun. In the morning, Dean drives them to the hospital, asking for John Winchester and they get directed to a quiet room with a couple of ill-looking patients in beds. Dean wants to throw up when he sees Dad.

It’s just so fucking ghastly. He’s hooked up to all these wires, beeping away, a catheter bag on the side of the bed. Dad’s skin is yellow, his stomach swollen. Sam sobs on sight, surprising himself, and he walks straight back out of the room. Dad’s asleep so he doesn’t notice, but there’s a blonde woman holding Dad’s hand who looks up at the boys. She stands up and holds out a firm hand.

“Kate,” she says. “Kate Milligan. You must be Dean.”

The hand she holds out was just holding Dad’s hand. Dean looks at it, at the thin, bony fingers. He makes a small noise, somewhere in between a sob and a retch. Kate touches his shoulder and Dean flinches.

Kate looks hurt.

“Liver failure?” Dean asks, tears pricking at his eyes.. He knows it but the reality knock him on his ass. Kate nods and a tear slips from her eye. She strokes Dad’s arm softly, this strange tenderness in her eyes. It’s not an expression people often hold around Dean’s dad.

Fuck. She’s blonde-haired and blue-eyed, and she reminds Dean of Mom. He can see it in his head, Dad in a bar, getting drunker and drunker all those years back, seeing a soft, blonde woman and thinking of Mary.

“I told him all the drinking was going to kill him,” she says sadly. “Never listened, never appreciated it, not until it was too late.” Kate sits back down in the chair next to Dad. “He came to me once he realized the cirrhosis of his liver was probably fatal.”

“Never told us,” Dean replies sullenly.

Kate smiles through her tears. “He didn’t want to burden you both. He said Sam had a chance of getting away and that you’d been through more than enough. You’d try and take care of him.”

Dean flinches away from her again. He crosses his arms and sets his jaw. “That’s what he went to you for, huh? A soft touch?”

Kate frowns. “I’m a nurse. We thought it best that I look after him rather than putting that on you.”

Dean licks his lips. “I could have. Been looking after him my whole life.”

“He didn’t want you to, Dean,” she says softly.

He scratches his arms and wishes for a cigarette. Kate says it like it was Dean’s choice to take over looking after Sammy, to look after Dad. God, Sammy wouldn’t eat if Dean didn’t force it down his throat, and like Dad would take time out from getting pissed if Dean wasn’t there to cook semi-healthy food. Dean was the one to remove Dad’s empty bottles and give him some water, and he’d tried so fucking hard to reason that Dad didn’t need all that much he drank.

Nice job there, Dean.

“How long?” he asks, trying to keep a level voice.

“I don’t know. Probably not that long,” she answers, unhelpfully.

What does that mean?

“Like, days?”

Kate shrugs and wipes her eyes. “I don’t know, Dean. I’m sorry. A couple of weeks, a month... You could ask a doctor.”

Dean shudders.

Kate’s quick to stand up again wrap her arms around Dean. She’s small, her head rests against his chest, so Dean can’t quite drop his head onto her shoulder like he’d like to. She smells like deodorant and that unwashed smell, but it’s not entirely unpleasant.

Sam re-enters, which leads Dean and Kate to part. Sam flops down into the chair, screwing up his face, so Dean places his hand onto his shoulder as a comforting gesture.

“Where’s the kid?” he asks Kate, turning his eyes back to Dad.

“Adam? He’s with a friend. This isn’t a great environment for a child.”

How long has Dad had Adam and Kate in his life? How close are Dad and Adam? Has he had this secret life where he comes in, kisses Kate on the cheek and rustles Adam’s hair, encouraging him to do great in school.

“How close was he to Dad?” Sam asks in a hoarse voice.

“Not now, Sammy,” Dean says tiredly.

But Kate doesn’t get it. “Kind of close,” she says, innocent to Sam’s increasing anger. “John would take him to ball games, make a fuss of him on his birthday…”

“Ball games, huh?” Sam asks, his voice steely. He looks to Dean, an ugly sneer on his face.

“Sammy, c’mon,” says Dean, gesturing to Dad.

“Nice of him to act like a real father, huh,” Sam says coolly.

Kate, to her credit, keeps an impassive face.

“Don’t, Sam,” Dean chides, slapping the back of Sam’s head. Sam scowls up at him but stays blessedly quiet.

They don’t stay long. It’s not right, seeing Dad’s ill body, and he’s not even awake anyway so they go out and get drunk; Sam, Dean and a bunch of their friends. He loses track of Sam for about an hour, and it’s only when he goes out for a smoke and Benny keeps him company that they spot him against a wall with some blonde chick, arms everywhere and loud, wet noises.

His lips are still swollen in the morning when they go back to the hospital. They see Kate again, see her a lot over the next week. Sam’s been granted some weeks off for compassionate leave, and leaving the hospital one day, they spot Kate coming in.

“Doesn’t she have a kid of her own to see,” Dean hisses to Sam.

“Sam, Dean,” she greets them with a smile. Dean scowls and her smile falters; until now, it’s mostly been Dean trying to keep Sam civil, but Dean’s not been feeling all that charitable today.

“How is he?” asks Kate.

“Dying,” Dean replies, pushing past her to leave. Sam does the same behind him, and some vindictive part of Dean is pleased.

It’s Dean and Cas’s night, and given the circumstances, Dean welcomes it gladly. Dean’s the only one of them who can face drinking – mind, the only one who can’t face eating.

Actually, he can face eating very much, but if he starts he’ll never stop.

Both the Winchesters are on edge, Sam’s tapping the table and Dean’s jigging his knee, licking lips, biting knuckles, hardly the perfect people to be out with. Dad’s getting worse steadily, but Cas understands. Cas always understands.

Sam and Dean have spent a lot of time together in comfortable silence and Cas slips into their quiet with no effort needed. But his voice is like a lifeline to Dean.

Cas exhales slowly and plays with his tie. “I’ve been searching for a house.”

Dean grunts in response.

“Somewhere small, not as ostentatious as Meg’s apartment,” he stops and tilts his head, thinking. “Although I am very fond of the space I have, but I don’t require nearly as much.”

“Gonna have a garden?” Dean asks, remembering Cas’s need for one.

“Yes,” Cas says, his eyes lighting up. “Yes. It’s my priority. My mother used to have a large garden, in the centre she would grow potatoes and carrots, lettuce, anything that she could. It would get eaten to death by slugs because Anna always argued when she put down slug repellent,” he says, smiling fondly. “And around that there would be all sorts of flowers. I don’t know the names, I hope my mother remembers what they all were because they were beautiful.”

“Hey, Sam,” Dean nudges him, “‘Member when you got that tomato plant and tried to plant it in that crapheap of a yard we had?”

“I got like, two tomatoes out of that thing,” says Sam.

“Tiniest fucking tomatoes I ever saw.”

“Did you keep trying?” asks Cas.

Sam shakes his head. “Nah, we moved into Bobby’s pretty soon after that. Bobby’s yard is full of cars and junk…”

Cas uses his finger to write in the condensation on his coke glass. “How’s college been, Sam?”

“Tiring,” Sam replies. “Big. Busy. Kind of weird, being on my own.”

“It’s a great big word out there,” Cas says wryly.

“No kidding.”

Dean finishes his beer and puts the bottle back on the table, eying up Sam’s fries.

Sam pushes his plate towards Dean. “You want some?”

Dean pulls a face.

“How’s your father?” asks Cas, to Dean more than to both of them.

“Not good,” Dean runs a hand over his mouth. “I thought they did like, liver transplants or something.”

Sam snorts. “Yeah, Dean, I’m sure they do. Not to fifty year old men who drank themselves to liver failure.”

Dean bristles, drawing himself up in his sleep. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Dean,” Sam says, exasperated. “Thousands of people need liver transplants. Healthy, young people who didn’t do this to themselves. Who have money.”

“So Dad doesn’t deserve a few more years then, is that it?” Dean sits back in his chair, crossing his arms and jutting his jaw.

“Of course I think he does, Dean, but the doctors who decide these things don’t. Dad might not even have been offered, or even have put himself forward.”

Dean raises his voice suddenly. “He shouldn’t have to!” he shouts, all eyes in the bar turning to him. He pushes abruptly away from the table, going out for a cigarette.

It takes him a few flicks of his lighter to get it lit, burning the tip of his finger in the process. “Shit,” he mutters. There’s a movement to his right and he looks over and starts, dropping his cigarette. “Shit!” he says again, “Don’t creep up on me like that.”

“Sorry,” Cas says unapologetically.

Dean lights up another cigarette. Cas coughs pointedly but Dean ignores him; Cas joined him for a smoke. He can go inside if he wants.

“I wish I could relate,” says Cas suddenly.

“You wish your old man was dying a slow and painful death?” He turns on his heel, tipping his head back to breathe out the smoke.

“I wish I could appreciate your pain.”

Dean laughs bitterly. “No, you don’t.”

“Dean.”

Dean turns, looking at Cas behind him. Cas’s lips are slightly parted, hand very slightly outstretched, like Dean could take it and hold on. And he’s tempted, he really is, but so many people are walking past that he can’t.

And Dean doesn’t need a hand held.

“I should have been able to stop it. Should have - have done something.” Dean stares out past Cas, fully facing him now, staring into the bar at Sammy who sits with his back towards Dean. His hair brushes his collar now, and Dean should have been able to stop this.

Cas gives him such a pity-filled look that Dean cringes. The hand comes forward and he flinches, and it’s soft and warm on his cheek, resting there for a moment before Cas goes back into the bar.

~

They sit in vigil over Dad like guardian angels; Sam, Kate and Dean. It’s three weeks since Sam came home, and Dad’s really bad. He’s been conscious a lot, but confused and disoriented. The whole place reminds Dean of when Sam was in hospital, not too long ago. His lanky brother stretched out across the bed, drips and catheter in and out of him, unable to breathe alone.

The memory is still so vivid. Sitting across from his baby brother, stroking his greasy hair and gripping onto the cold, lifeless hands.

He’d stroked Sammy’s hand. Wake up, he’d willed. He’d never seen anyone so pale. Sam’s chest rose and fell regularly, softly, machine controlled. Sam lying on the hospital bed had been the calmest Dean had ever seen him.

Dean shakes the memory from his head, getting a shock again when he looks to Sam and his face is filled out, cheeks pink.

Dad wakes up, drowsy and disorientated and croaks for Mary. Kate blinks back tears and smiles at him, taking his hand and reminding Dad when it is, where he is. It takes him a while but Dad comes back to himself and asks to speak to Sam and Dean alone, so she says goodbye to them, kissing Dad on the cheek as she goes.

He’s mostly lucid, for the first time in a while, sitting up in bed and his eyes are wide open.

Even the whites of his eyes have a yellow tint.

“How’s college going, Sammy? I never asked,” says Dad.

“Uh,” Sam taps his fingers. “It’s difficult,” he replies quietly, “but -”

“But you’re damn smart and damn persistent,” Dad says lightly.

Sam blinks, caught off guard. He pulls an awkward smile; Dad’s never been a good one for compliments.

“Any cute girls yet?”

Dean’s also invested in this question but Sam only shakes his head half-heartedly.

“‘Bout you, Dean? That Lisa girl or something?”

Sam snorts suddenly and Dean goes cold. “What is this, Dad?” Sam demands, his cheeks flushed with anger.

God. This is one of the last times Sam’s gonna see Dad, and all he takes from it is another chance to get revenge?

“Sammy,” Dad says softly, his voice rasping. “Cas we not fight? Just this once? I feel like all we ever do is just butt heads.”

Dean swallows. That doesn’t sound like he expects to last.

Sam looks to Dean quickly, coming to the same realization Dean’s come to.

Sam blinks a few times. “Sure, Dad,” he says quietly, looking at Dean again, helpless.

“I’m real proud of you, Sammy, you know that,” says Dean, reaching a yellow hand out to touch Sam’s arm.

Sam stands stock still, taking a few seconds to breathe in and out and in and out before he nods. Dad’s eyes pass over Sammy and land on Dean and he lets his hand fall from Sam’s arm. Sam wipes his eyes and says something about the bathroom, walking out of the room.

“Dean,” Dad smiles as warmly as Dean’s ever seen him smile. It’s hard to look into Dad’s yellow eyes, but he’s wary it could be one of his last changes. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Dad stops, breathing in hard. “You shouldn’t have had to look after me, not how you did… I put too much on you. Way too much. Only come to see it recently.”

Dean bites his lip and looks up at the ceiling to compose himself. There are tears in Dad’s eyes, and he’s going the same way.

“Took care of Sammy, you took care of me… And I… whatever you -” He stops, clearing his throat. “Dean, you’re my son. And you’ve made me proud.”

Dean nods and clears his throat. Standing over his father at this moment, Dean’s never felt more like a kid.

Sammy comes back and he and Dean sit beside Dad until the doctors call them away.

He’s dead by morning, yellow eyes staring at nothing.

~

The trunk of the Impala is empty. Dean hadn’t even realized he’d used up most of his supplies, but here’s the proof. Under an old blanket, there’s just a shitload of empty wrappers. He’s all out.

But it’s okay, because there’s a working car to test drive so Dean takes her out for a spin via a big Walmart a few miles away. He spends all the cash in his wallet and drives to a secluded part with plenty of trash cans and an empty parking lot. He does what he has to do and feels the nausea rising quickly in him, drinking a pint of full-fat coke to settle it down. Dean takes a few minutes breather where he feels full and heavy and fat and ill, his face flushed. He gets out of the car, looks around surreptitiously before puking it all up in the trash can.

And then Dean can breathe again. He drinks a can of diet coke and chews on some gum, sitting back in the car, sweaty and his heart pumping.

He gets back home and tosses the keys to the car to Bobby, telling him she’s a smooth ride, and then he sits on the buckled bonnet of the Impala. He starts the list of everything she needs again, something he used to do every few months but he’s not for about a year now. The car took the brunt of the impact, as she should have done, so she’s busted up as fuck and Dad and Sammy were mostly okay, considering. She needs a lot of parts.

It’d be good to have a project, though.

“You want anything, Dean?” yells Sammy from  the back porch. Dean shakes his head, waving him away.

They’d had the funeral. Dean and Sam met Adam. He’s a cute kid, smart. Flashes of a young Sammy in him, probably gonna go far. A couple of Dad’s old friends showed up, the few he’d not managed to completely alienate, and some people who seemed to have come for Kate and Adam alone. Even Cas showed up, though he didn’t speak to Dean.

Or was it Dean who wasn’t speaking to him?

Dean slides off the bonnet and starts to try and ease some of the rust off her, but she’s been left too long. Her rims are destroyed, side crushed, Dean hasn’t much hope for her. Hasn’t the money to restore her to her full potential and he doubts whether he’s got the talent or perseverance to fix her up.

Sam stays around for a few more days before he leaves, hugging Dean and asking him to take care of himself before he gets on the long bus ride to California. Take care of himself - is there a hidden meaning to that? Because Dean’s got extra soft around his middle since Dad, and the whole eating proper meals with Bobby and Sam, not doing as much exercise.

So he’s trying to combat that.

And when Sam goes back, Bobby gets back to his usual meeting with Ellen as often as he can, so no one notices when Dean skips his meals, or when he wanders aimlessly up and down the stairs, unable to settle, before finally slumping on the couch.

His phone buzzes incessantly, as he’s supposed to be meeting Cas tonight. Dean wouldn’t be great company anyway.

Dean must have fallen asleep, for he wakes up suddenly in the darkness, with someone banging open the door and stomping over to Dean. Chest out, hair in a mess, breathing deeply and meaningfully, Cas stands in front of Dean, bends his knees and places his hands on Dean’s cheeks.

“We’ve talked about this, Dean,” say Cas, exasperated, and then to Dean’s surprise, Cas leans in and kisses him with force.

God.

Cas grips Dean, pulling him in hungrily, their noses nudging. Dean’s lips brush over Cas’s stubble and back to his chapped lips, he moves his hands from lying listless on the couch to reaching out for Cas, stroking his shirt, stroking his waist. Dean needs more contact so he slides his hands down to Cas’s ass, where they’ve wanted to be for so long, and hauls Cas up and onto his lap.

Cas appears to like this idea, if his moans mean anything. Dean nibbles along his lips and pecks kisses up Cas’s stubbly cheeks and along his jawline, the hard bulge pressing against his stomach. And, yeah, that’s kind of off-putting, kicking off alarm bells in his head.

But it’s Cas. Dean turns them to the side on the couch and pushes Cas down, lying on top of him, hands pressed into the cushions and face a few inches above Cas, hips flush. The position means their dicks are against each other, and Cas shifts his hips and shit, that feels good. He grinds back down on Cas before he knows what he’s doing, pulls his legs up to straddle Cas and they go back to making out furiously. Cas’s hands run down Dean’s ass and down his thighs, squeezing, feeling how meaty Dean is and Dean has to stop.

He pulls away. Shit, he’s sitting on Cas. On him. Dean licks his lip and climbs off Cas only Cas seems to think he means to continue and well - Cas is on top. And that’s really kind of awesome, and they make out for a while just like that. Warm hands fiddle around Dean’s groin, skillfully undoing the belt buckle and slipping under, all warm and rough and under and holyshitfuck hand on his cock all tight and all Cas, fuck, Dean groans and rolls his hips.

Cas smirks, ducking his head down to kiss the dark line of hair from Dean’s navel to his crotch. Dean lets his head flop back as Cas presses kisses to his fucking pubes, for Christ’s sake and that’s hot as anything. Cas’s nose is nestled in Dean’s fucking pubes and his hands pull Dean’s jeans and boxers down, a hand cupping his balls.

Cas soothes Dean’s twitching thighs with his hands, licking a stripe up Dean’s dick and then closing his lips around the head, sucking gently and pulling off again to blow cool air onto the wet. The flat of Cas’s tongue rubs up and down, and his hand comes up, following the rhythm of his mouth on the base of Dean’s cock. Cas bobs up and down and then he pulls off, kisses up one side and licks down the other as he keeps pumping with his hand, and Dean’s fisting Cas’s hair and moaning.

His warning is a strangled yelp but Cas doesn’t move away, and Dean comes into Cas’s mouth, fast and messy. He feels sweat drip down Dean’s butt to the couch, which is pretty gross but there’s not much he can do about that.

“Fuck,” Cas says breathlessly, and the shock of Cas swearing and his coming down from orgasm makes Dean giggle. The giggles turn to heavy breathing as he watches Cas pull down his own pants and boxers, jacking his hand up and down quickly over his cock. Dean sits up, leaning on his elbows, staring as the head of Cas’s cock slips up and back through his fist. He tugs on his balls every few moments, using just two fingers over a cock, uses his whole fist, bent over himself and then stretching out his neck again, the tendons in his neck strained and so fucking tempting.

And fuck, he comes when he meets Dean’s eyes, coming messily over his hand and onto his shirt.

Cas lets out an almighty breath and sinks back down, pulling out some tissues from his pants pocket to clean himself up.

“Woah,” says Dean after a minute.

Cas nods and smiles dopily at Dean, dropping the come-soaked tissue onto the floor and pulling his slacks up his legs. He pokes a finger into Dean’s chest, muttering, “I am very mad at you,” and the his nose is in Dean’s neck and Dean’s naked crotch presses on Cas’s black slacks, probably staining them but Dean doesn’t care if Cas doesn’t. He wraps a hand over Cas’s waist and shuffles his jeans back up, just enough that he’s decent.

“Please,” Cas’s voice rumbles against his chest, “please stop ignoring my calls.”

Dean kisses the top of Cas’s head. “Okay.”

“Promise?” Cas mumbles.

“Mhmm.” Cas’s heavy breathing on his neck is warm and steady, reassuring. And it’s a good idea Dean pulled up his jeans, because they fall asleep on the couch together and only wake up when Bobby returns. Dean’s too sleepy to panic, Bobby just throws a blanket over them and winks at Dean, heading upstairs.

They’re still wearing shoes, but Dean doesn’t give a flying fuck.

Come morning, when Dean’s phone alarm bleeps him awake, he and Cas untangle themselves with sheepish smiles. It’s not the most comfortable they’ve been around each other; Cas is overly polite and Dean is overly leery, like how he is after sex with a chick.

“Uh,” says Cas, standing in front of Dean.

Dean looks away from his eyes and rubs the back of his neck. “Uh,” Dean replies.

Cas moves forward quickly, like he’ll lose his bottle if he doesn’t do this now, and hugs Dean stiffly.

This is stupid. Really fucking thick, because they’ve been dancing around each other for a long time now and it’s always been Dean’s stupid shit in the way, and really there’s not that much in the way. Not anymore.

Dean reaches for Cas’s hand and Cas takes it with a smile. They interlace their fingers and Dean squeezes his hand and it’s not a hard step from here to pull Cas in further for a quick kiss. It makes Dean’s heart race and brings sweat out all over him, but he was sweaty already and Dean’s heart always thumps that bit faster around Cas.

Cas doesn’t let him go, they stand with their foreheads touching and noses brushing against each other.

“Can I see you tonight? We need to talk,” Cas whispers.

This close, Dean can feel Cas’s breath hot on his lips. “Sure,” Dean whispers back. Cas tilts his chin up to kiss Dean again, and again, and then rests smiling against Dean’s lips.

This here, holding Cas against himself, it’s where he belongs.

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse for no update last week. I'm very upset that the end is nigh for this fic though, it's been my baby for the past year.  
> Usual warnings about vomit and disordered eating and there's a nice load of angst - but also nice things like sex in this chapter.

“You doing okay, Dean?”

Dean sighs. It’s the only thing Sammy asks nowadays. “Peachy, Sam. Just peachy,” Dean replies wearily. “How are things going with you?”

“Yeah, college is okay.” Sam pauses and clears his throat. “I miss him, Dean. I didn’t think I would so bad - all those years… I hated him, Dean. I really did,” he says, his voice choked.

“Yeah,” Dean replies weakly.

Sam sniffs loudly. He’s crying, Dean can hear it. “He’s really gone.”

Dean doesn’t reply.

“You visited his grave?

Why the fuck would he go to Dad’s grave?

“Dean, will you answer me?”

Dean clears his own throat. “Uh - no, Sammy, I haven’t.”

“Are you even acknowledging his death at all?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” asks Dean sharply.

Sam sigh. When he speaks, his voice isn’t as choked as before. “Dad’s dead, Dean, and you can’t just brush it off.”

“I’m not.”

“Well, according to Bobby, you’re acting as though nothing has happened! It’s an insult to him and it’s bad for you.”

“Leave it, Sam.” Dean rubs the back of his neck and leans against the counter.

“No, I won’t. It’s Dad, Dean!”

Something in Dean snaps, and suddenly he’s yelling down the phone. “Yeah, i know that! You’re not Doctor Fucking Phil, Sam, you‘re a measly college student and you’re my fucking kid brother, so shut the hell up about things you don’t know.”

“I do know, Dean! You’re my brother and I know you. You’re avoiding this.”

Dean swears and slams his hand down onto the counter. “God, for once in your fucking life, Sam, shut the hell up.”

When Sam does shut the hell up, Dean doesn't feel any better. He presses his eyes shut and breathes heavily, trying to calm himself down. Sam’s crying softly on the other end, and it’s only then that it occurs to Dean that Sam’s feeling Dad’s death just as strongly as he is.

But, Dean’s a dick. He says, “Shit, cry me a fucking river, college boy. He’s dead, that’s it. Fuck off and get back to forgetting about this family, will you?”

And with that, Dean hangs up, like the gigantic douchebag he is.

Bobby finds Dean layer, sitting on the porch and freezing his balls off, the phone clutched in his hand. His lips are bloody and he’s been scratching his arms, and maybe Dean’s not dealing that great with Dad’s death.

“Want some food?” Bobby asks gruffly.

Of course he doesn’t. Fridge is fucking empty anyway, and Dean’s knees are painful from the hard bathroom floor.

“Take out sounds good to me,” says Bobby lightly. “Could get Ellen to bring something over.

That peaks Dean's interest. "Ellen's coming over?"

Bobby sits down next to Dean. "Yeah, Jo's taking care of the Roadhouse for the night."

"How are you and her, huh?" Dean raises his eyebrows suggestively, but it's halfhearted, and he turns back away to stare out at across the yard.

"Good," Bobby replies. Dean can hear the smile in his voice. Cute. "And you and Cas?"

The tips of Dean's ears burn bright red and his neck prickles uncomfortably. He nods sharply and then nods again, licking at his lips.

"You talking to Sam earlier?" asks Bobby, gesturing at the phone in Dean's hand.

"We had a fight," replies Dean.

"Any point to it?"

"No." 

Bobby claps a hand on his own knee. The noise startles Dean and he turns his head to look at Bobby, as Bobby had intended. "Boy, you better get your head out of your ass," he says sternly. "Your brother's lost John too, so have other people. Sam means the best and you damn well know that." Bobby's expression softens. "People are only trying to help, kid. Let them, you idgit."

Dean shifts uncomfortably. "Sorry," he mutters after a while of awkward silence.

"Just think about it." Bobby pauses a minute, hands resting on his knees. "And - Dean, I never want to get involved in your personal crap but you're eating like some teenaged girl on her period."

Ouch.

Dean nods and clears his throat. "I - uh, I might go to Cas's later," he says hesitantly. What Bobby says next and what his expression conveys means the world to Dean.

Bobby nods, exhaling slowly. "I gotta say, you know it's fine with me. Just give me a few days to get used to it."

Dean nods, pulling a face. "Weird for me too, Bobby."

Bobby's words ring in Dean's ears for ages afterwards. It’s weird, now that Dean’s coming to terms with it. It’s out there in the open, that Dean Winchester likes boys. He’s known who he likes since Alastair, since before that, even. Since when Caleb used to come over, who knew his dad somehow, but it’s only now that he’s acting on it for real, acting and thinking of himself as someone who likes dudes - a bisexual man. The very word makes him uncomfortable. It’s hard to get used to, like he’s a new outlook on the world.

Or maybe, it’s the knowledge that the world has a new outlook on him.

Later, after he’s arranged the meeting with Cas - date? Guess it would be considered a date - he finds himself spending ten minutes in front of the mirror, unbuttoning and rebuttoning his shirt, trying to work out which looks best. He spikes up his hair with the gel but when Dean runs a hand through it, he realizes there’s far too much product.

Hell. There’s no time for another shower, Dean’s late as it is, so he tries to blot it with some tissue but it doesn’t help, and now his hair is dotted with specks of white tissue, giving the impression of some pretty bad dandruff.

“Shit,” Dean says, staring at his reflection. There’s a movement in the mirror, someone coming into the room. Ellen’s arrived, in her usual plaid shirt but some dark red lipstick and her hair pulled up.

“Heard you’re on a date tonight,” she says.

Dean grunts in reply.

“With friend of yours? Castiel?” Ellen says Cas’s name differently, as Cas-teel, instead of Cast-e-elle, as Dean pronounces it. He turns away from the mirror to face Ellen. “Yeah.”

Ellen reaches forward and neatens up his collar and unbuttoning the last of his shirt buttons. “Go get him, tiger,” she winks. Dean turns back for one final reassuring glance in the mirror and - okay, he doesn’t look bad.

~

Being around Cas, clasping his hand and sitting close to him on the couch, makes Dean feel drunk. Sure, they’ve had a few beers but there’s a sense of unreality. Cas beams when he sees Dean standing on his doorstep with a hesitant smile, and hasn’t stop beaming the whole night. He feeds Dean pizza, despite Dean’s protests, and takes hold of his hand and squeezes it every now and then through the evening. Cas sits on the couch next to Dean and without warning, he hauls Dean onto his lap and begins to kiss his neck, ticking with his tongue, and Dean can’t stop laughing.

He’s cosied up on the couch with a dude, and it’s the fucking best he’s felt in years, even though Sammy’s gone and Dad’s dead. They end up covered by each other and making out as the credits roll, Dean nibbling on Cas’s lower lip and Cas’s hands running smoothly up and down Dean’s back.

The pizza and beer sit heavily in his stomach. Dean knows he’s got to get rid of it, he’s been doing so well and has started losing weight again, and the fullness of his stomach is distracting, uncomfortable. If he doesn’t get rid of it then the thoughts will come, there’s no question to whether he’ll get rid of it. Dean slaps Cas off him.

“Is everything okay?” Cas asks breathily, with his cheeks pink and hair mussed.

“Great, yeah,” Dean assures him.

“Shall I put another movie on?”

“Sure, Cas. I gotta go to the bathroom first, though.”

Cas nods and moves aside for Dean to get up and head upstairs, but he’s only just locked the door when he hears Cas coming up the stairs. Dean waits for Cas to move but he hears the linen closet door open and then Cas stops.

What?

Dean has to - but he can’t - with Cas just outside - he’ll hear. Fuck.

And fuck, Dean ate a whole pizza, shit, he knew he shouldn’t do that, not with people around but they’d been chilling out and having fun and it had all been so nice.

Dean turns the tap on, just to see what happens.

Cas sounds like he’s putting away towels, very elaborately, given how long it’s taking.

Fuck, fuck, fuck! Cas isn’t moving and Dean’s heavy and full and anxious, and fucking furious. Cas is taking this away from him!

Cas knocks on the door. “Dean, are you okay?”

Dean blushes. “I’m good,” he calls out, trying to stop his voice from trembling. He flushes the toilet.

All he can do now is wash his hands and leave. “Hey, Cas,” he says, following Cas downstairs again. “The hanging outside the bathroom thing? Kinda makes me uncomfortable.”

“Apologies,” Cas says smoothly.

And they settle back down next to each other like nothing’s happened. Cas tries to start the making out thing again and it’s nice until Cas’s hands reach around Dean’s stomach. He’s not too keen on that and they simply lie against each other for the rest of the night with Cas’s hand on Dean’s tense leg.

He’s fucking ruined it, of course.

Dean makes himself throw up when he gets home but it’s too late by then, he’s taken the calories in mostly now, and it’s fucking worthless. Of course it’s fucking worthless, he’s Dean goddamn Winchester.

~

“I’m sorry.”

The wind whips Dean’s face, blowing away his tears. He bows his head at the new grave, wanting nothing more than to curl up and cry against it. He’s not handling this well, not at all, and Benny had pointed out that perhaps Dad had died so fast, been away so much that he and Dean had never had a resolve.

Closure, everyone talks about it.

“Dad. I’m sorry, for all of it.” Dean doesn’t know why he’s apologizing but he says sorry all the same. “I’m sorry about Mom, about Alastair. I’m sorry about the crash, Dad.” Dean sniffs, casting his eyes towards the sky and back to the gravestone. “I’m sorry you found out how you did, I’m sorry you and Sammy never got along…”

What else? He’s sorry for who he is, for what he is.

For what Dad crafted him into, piece by cruel piece. Dean’s phone is in his hand and he throws it, hard, at Dad’s gravestone. “I’m sorry you were a crappy father,” he says bitterly, a new energy rising in him. “I’m sorry that you made me feel like shit for years, Dad. Every fucking day, when I hated myself and you just -” Dean breaks off and starts to smirk through his tears. “You just gave me that ol’ look, pushed me aside like I didn’t remember what a waste of fucking space I am. I’m sorry I’ve never done anything good in my life, Dad!”

It’s meant to be cathartic and strong, but Dean feels the opposite. There’s no giant release of emotion like he’s been wanting, needing. Hell, puking up a fuckload of food gives him a bigger release than this. Pinching his stomach is stronger. He’d have more luck getting over Dad by jacking off. Dean’s aware he’s got a lot to say to Dad, but he can’t reach what it is. There’s so many feelings, but they’re so distant from him.

He stands at Dad’s grave. They didn’t put him with Mom’s grave, which was simply a headstone out in a cemetery in Lawrence. Since Mom’s funeral, Dean hadn’t been there once. No reason to, as there wasn’t a body or ashes or anything underneath. Dad had always made out that the headstone meant nothing to him, that they were better off holding onto her memory, so he was buried in the local cemetery to Bobby.

Dean’s bitterly grateful that Dad hasn’t been buried by Mom’s gravestone. Mom had died in a tragedy, remembered as an angel. Dad had died from alcohol.

Dean shakes his head and wipes away the last of his tears. He can’t stay here, so sends a text to Cas to see if he can come over. Cas replies immediately, saying how he’d be delighted.

Dean lets the graveyard experience wash away from his mind by drinking a lot of beer. They end up draped over Cas’s bed, talking stupid shit about dudes.

“I never even considered men until my final year of high school,” Cas admits, the soft slur in his voice making Dean grin stupidly. “I made friends with a gay boy and started having dreams about him.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean rolls towards Cas, grinning lecherously. “What kind of dreams?”

“You know. The kind where he’d say how attractive I was, run his hands down my stomach,” Cas replies dreamily.

“Get further than that?” asks Dean.

“He’d suck me off and I’d come on his face,” says Cas with a smile.

Dean splutters. “That a thing of yours?” he asks after he’s composed himself.

“Maybe,” replies Cas, his voice low and tinged with arousal. And so Dean slides a hand down Cas’s stomach, playing with his dick through his pants. Cas isn’t hard but he’s on his way, moaning prettily when Dean pulls his cock. The buckle of his belt proves too complicated for Dean’s alcohol-addled mind so Cas does it for him and then lies back, waiting expectantly.

Dean doesn’t hesitate. Cas’s dick is a thing of wonder, how it bulges through his dumb white shorts - who the hell even wears shorts? Although, it does mean that Dean can slide his hand up the leg of Cas’s shorts and squeeze the cockhead, while mouthing through the fabric along Cas’s shaft.

Dean really likes giving head.

Cas swears when Dean rubs the fabric against the head of his cock, starting to leak precome, and Dean pulls down the boxers and catches Cas’s cock in his mouth. He keeps his eyes trained on Cas’s chin, all of his head that’s visible, until Cas’s pushes himself up and looks down at Dean. Dean winks and starts to swirl his tongue around the head of Cas’s cock, bobbing up and down and rubbing where Cas’s dick joins his body with his hand, his head swimming with how Cas is biting his lip and making little gasping noises.

Dean pulls off and purses his lips around the smooth skin right at the tip of Cas’s dick. He’s not touching Cas anyway else any more, it’s just his lips and the silky smooth tip.

“You’re cruel,” Cas gasps, frustrated.

Dean only grins and then licks a line along Cas’s cock, up to the curls that line his crotch. Dean’s not sure how much he likes body hair but he certainly relishes  the strong, masculine smell where he buries his nose in.

“Shit,” hisses Cas.

Cas doesn’t take long to come, not when Dean’s enthusiastically jacking his shaft and sucking his head, fingers dancing between his balls and ass. His hands come down to surround Dean’s head.

“I’m gonna -” starts Cas, thighs trembling, so Dean pulls off and jacks harder.

He doesn’t pull away far, and the first stripe Dean across his chin and mouth. He’s expecting it but the reality still causes him to jerk his head back and the rest of the come falls back down onto Cas’s stomach.

“Woops,” Dean grins, feeling drops of come slip into his mouth.

Cas sits up and smiles blearily at the come on his stomach, then looks to Dean and drops his jaw. “Shit,” he says, eyes wide, and tugs on Dean’s hair to pull him towards himself. He kisses Dean’s come-covered mouth, licking it, chasing it all.

“Shit, that’s hot,” says Dean when Cas pulls back. Dean’s close to coming in his pants, he’s got to get off, so he pulls down his own pants and starts to jerk his dick.

“Do it on me,” murmurs Cas, flushing when Dean’s mouth drops open.

“Okay,” Dean breathes, throwing his leg over Cas so he’s straddling his lap. Cas’s eyes flick from Dean’s face to Dean’s cock over and over. Dean comes quickly with a strangled yelp that surprises him, coming in thick stripes over Cas’s dick and shirt-covered torso. Cas chuckles and pulls Dean in for a sloppy kiss.

They lie back together, face to face, stripped down to tee shirts and shorts and holding hands. Cas’s nose touches the tip of Dean’s, and it makes Dean’s insides quiver to think they’re breathing the same air.

“What about your first boy?” Cas whispers with his eyes only half open.

“Alastair,” Dean whispers back. “He was a dick.”

Cas leans up to kiss the tip of Dean’s nose.

~

There’s a car in the yard that Dean’s been ignoring for ten years, except as a food stash. Dean asks for some overtime at the garage, which Bobby’s more than happy to give him, and he spends hours and hours fixing up the tired old cars people keep turning in. He gets them to purr again, gets them all fixed up and beautiful. It can be monotonous, his job, but any dislike he has for it soon disperses when he’s under the hood and left to his own devices. Dean keeps note of his bank balance, seeing it grow and grow. He realizes just how much of his income went on alcohol every week. Saving money has ever been so easy.

Sammy’s got himself a job up in California but Dean sends him some money every now and again, making sure he has a least a little to enjoy himself. And - he likes contributing to Sam’s life.

If only Impala ‘67 parts weren’t so expensive.

He’s got some parts tucked away that he’s gathered over the years and Bobby’s able to get deals from his friends, and really most of her parts are kinda okay, just need a lot of touching up. Although, it does mean he needs a new place to stash his food, but now Sam’s moved out his room is a safe place. With a suitcase filled with food and wrappers under his bed, Dean can settle into a casual routine. He doesn’t see Bobby all that much, who spends about as much time seeing Ellen as Dean spends seeing Cas.

Bobby even tries to invite Ellen and Jo over for a Sunday meal but the women laugh him off, so they go for drinks at the Roadhouse instead. Jo probably knows about him and Cas by now, but most of his friends don’t so it’s probably about time Dean comes to terms with he and Cas as a thing.

As a thing - and that Dean likes guys. In that way. In fact, most of his friends are aware by now. Benny and Jo for sure, and it may well have spread. But there’s someone more important who needs to know first.

“Yo, Sammy,” Dean says with a smile.

“Dean, hey man! How’re you doing?”

Dean licks his lips nervously. “Good, yeah. You doing okay? Eating all right? Getting laid enough?”

Sam laughs. “I’m okay. Why are you calling?”

Dean hesitates. “You know Bobby and Ellen are a thing now? Like, officially.”

He hears the beaming in Sam’s voice. “No kidding! That’s great. Good for them.”

“Yeah. ANd I - uh, well,” Dean clears his throat and digs his fingers into the fleshy part of his palm. Shit, this is hard.

“Yeah?”

“Speaking of rela- uh, things,” come on, Dean, just fucking do it! “M-me and - me and Cas, actually -” Shit, Dean can’t breathe can’t breathe gonna be sick can’t breathe sweat vomit-

“Awesome. Dean, man, I’m really happy for you.”

Dean lets out a shaky breath. His eyes are screwed tight and he’s shaky, so shaky. “I - yeah, it’s…”

“Really, Dean. I am, I mean it.” And Dean can hear the smile in his voice, clear as day.

“Okay.” Fuck, he’s feeling emotional. “Okay. Thanks, Sammy,” he says sincerely.

~

Dean stands in front of Dad’s bedroom. The door’s been closed ever since Dad left, all those months ago, and Dean hasn’t stepped in since. But he wants to now. He pushes the door open with a thumping heart.

It’s neater in there than it’s been in years; Dad must have tidied before he left, even made the bed. There’s a musty smell to the room so Dean throws open the window. It could really use a vacuum, he thinks, surveying the place. One of Dad’s old flannels rests on the chair in a heap, with piles of old books Dad can’t have looked at for years.

There’s a photo of Mom tucked in the corner of the mirror. Dad clearly chose not to take the picture, preferring to leave Mom in this crappy room. Anger courses through Dean and he punches the mirror, causing it to smash and Mom’s picture to float down to the floor with pieces of glass and Dean’s blood.

Stupid. Now his knuckles are sore and bloody, there’s glass everywhere and he’s meant to be at Cas’s in half an hour. The shards of glass line the floor, some massive hunks and some only tiny pieces. He could sweep them up and drop them about the room, leaving a bunch on the bed, covering the floor, all mixed up in Dad’s clothes.

Or he could be a normal fucking person and sweep them up and put them in the trash. He tugs the picture of Mom free and there’s a drop of Dean’s blood in the corner, like a bright red sun. Dean whirls around and thumps the wall with the palm of his sore hand, again and again and again. The pain shoots up his wrist to his elbow, his shoulder starts to ache but he keeps hitting and hitting, like a man possessed.

He rests his head against the wall, breathing harshly and his face damp. There’s blood on the wall now, and a small dent from his hand.

Fuck.

~

To make it easier for himself, he chooses not to eat at Cas’s. Cas opts to join him, so they spend most of the evening making out and dry humping. It’s nice.

“What happened to your hand?” asks Cas as he cleans himself and Dean up.

“Car,” replies Dean, scratching at it lazily, still in his post-orgasm fog.

“You’re fixing up your old car, aren’t you?

Dean relaxes his head against the back of the couch. “Trying,” he laughs. “I’ve got hardly any money and even less time.”

Cas clambers on top of him and starts kisses up his neck. “Perhaps one day, we could have a date when you’re working on it,” he purrs.

“Her, not ‘it’,” scowls Dean. After a pause, he says, “You really wanna do that?”

“Sure,” and Cas presses a kiss to the soft skin behind Dean’s ear. “You in a tight shirt, covered in oil, under the hood of a car, with all those muscles…” Cas makes an appreciative sound and strokes back Dean’s hair.

“Yeah, maybe,” Dean replies. He’s not sure, though. His car is personal, she’s his baby. And Dean’s not even let Cas in the bedroom since that drunken night, paranoid he’ll snoop and find the food. And it’s a different room now, now there’s no Sam.

“What’s your dad like?” Dean asks after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

Cas stiffens and shrugs. He opens his mouth like he’s going to talk but closes it again, shrugging. “Complicated,” he says eventually.”

“Yeah?” Dean waits for him to elaborate.

“Distant. He’s only approved properly of one of my siblings, and I spent a long time doing my best to please him.” he frowns. “But my priorities have changed recently.”

“Your eldest brother?”

Cas nods. “Michael. Michael is high up in the armed forces, has a delightful wife and three happy children.”

“And the others?”

Cas had been lying face down on top of Dean but he turns, shifting about until he’s nestled between Dean and the back of the couch, half on top of Dean, his head resting on Dean’s arm. “My sister, Lucy. One could argue she was the root of my family’s difficulties. Lucy is two years younger than Michael, but they don’t talk. They used to be very close but…”

Dean feels Cas shaking his head on his arm. “It’s a shame. She’s nine years older than me and when she was born she was known as Luke.”

Dean frowns. “She changed her name?”

“No,” Cas says patiently. “She’s transgender. She’s a trans woman. She had an operation and hormone treatment change her body, and my parents didn’t approve. My father couldn’t handle ‘Luke’ not being normal, changing and not accepting the body given to her by God, so he cast her out.”

“Shit. That really sucks.”

“Yes,” continues Cas, his voice softening. “My sister, Naomi… she died, some years back. We were never very close, she managed to uphold my family’s virtues as best she good. Gabriel, as you know, was heavily into drugs and so delayed having a ‘respectable’ lifestyle,” he pulls a face saying the word. “My sister Anna owns her own company and hasn’t had a relationship since she was fifteen. Hester is happy, from what I hear. Married with two young children.”

Dean doesn't know what to say. “Busy family, huh?” he gets out, catching Cas’s hand and squeezing it.

“My parents are very stifling,” Cas says. He pauses for a beat, and then announces to the room at large, “Naomi killed herself.”

Dean squeezes his hand again. “I’m so sorry.”

Cas nods. “Thank you,” he says simply. Cas shifts around on top of Dean, turning himself over so he’s facing Dean again, legs either side of Dean’s. He takes Dean’s hurt hand and brings it to his lips, brushing them lightly against the cuts and bruises. Cas presses his lips to the cut on Dean’s thumb, letting his lips fall open. He sucks on the skin and closes his eyes, taking a few breaths in and out before reluctantly letting the skin free.

It’s possibly the most arousing thing Dean’s ever seen. He pulls Cas’s head towards his own and kisses those lips fiercely. They fall open around his, and he lets Cas gently suck on his lips, and Dean pushes forward, mashing their lips together. It’s not deep enough, he scours Cas’s mouth with his tongue. Cas’s hands are insistent on Dean’s waist, sliding up and pulling Dean forward by his shoulders until they’re pulling on each other so hard they can barely move their heads. Noses collide and chins cross paths, it’s the kind of kissing Dean loves but he can’t keep it up for long as it aggravates the self-inflicted cuts on his lips.

And of course, when they pull apart, Cas frowns and touches Dean’s lip with the tip of his index finger. It makes his sensitive skin sting. Cas shows him the finger with a spot of blood on it. “You shouldn’t bite your lips so,” Cas chides.

“Perhaps you should do it for me,” Dean quips. Cas leans in and softly presses his lips on Dean’s bottom  lip and then pulls back, his head tilting to the side. He brings his hands up to Dean’s neck, stroking and rubbing it.

“How did you deal?” asks Dean. Cas narrows his eyes in confusion. “With Naomi,” he clarifies.

Cas shrugs. “I just did it. I had to.”

When Dean was a kid, he would get terrifying thoughts before getting to sleep, and then nightmares during. He vividly remembers the frustration at asking Bobby, Dad, Sammy, school friends, how they’d get to sleep without having such bad thoughts coming into their heads. Bad thoughts - scary thoughts - would always enter Dean’s head as soon as he was left to his own devices and expected to sleep, hearing Sammy’s snuffling and the loud noise of his own heartbeat, and the fear that it would suddenly stop. He’d cry, sometimes. Only with age did it get better.

He feels like that now, that Cas’s answer doesn’t help him in the slightest.

“How do you cope?” Cas asks him.

Dean hasn’t an answer for him. He shrugs and tries to answer but he can’t answer. He shrugs again. Cas keeps looking at him so he says, “I don’t know, but it’s-” but then he breaks off. He shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he repeats.

“But?”

“But… I don’t know. I don’t think I’m handling it that well,” he admits, avoiding Cas’s eyes.

“Your father died,” says Cas in a tone entirely too casual to be discussing Dean’s dead father. “No one expects you to be okay.”

Dean’s doubts about that must show on his face, for Cas, says, “They don’t. It’s okay to find this difficult. Just, please take care of yourself.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Cas kisses his lips to soothe Dean. “You’re looking tired, that’s all. Are you eating properly?”

“I’m eating fine,” Dean replies coolly.

“You look as though you’ve lost some weight,” Cas says, with a concerned expression.

The comment surprises Dean. He doesn’t even know if he has any more, he’s afraid to. It varies so much, up and down like a fucking yo yo.

“You don’t think so?” inquires Cas, all too innocently.

“No,” Dean replies sullenly. He’s starting to feel strange, like his hands aren’t really his own, like he’s not in his body. Or, rather, like he’s a spectator within his body, like he could leave it at any time. It’s unpleasant, very unpleasant. He excuses himself to go upstairs and splash water on his face, pinching his thighs hard in the bathroom, keeping on pinching until he can face himself in the mirror again.

God, he’s fucking pathetic. He gets told he’s losing weight and he runs away and hurts himself.

This isn’t who he should be. He’s meant to be Dean Winchester, reliable son and brother, a hell of a laugh and a ladies man.

There’s a rapping at the bathroom door. “Dean, are you okay?”

Shit, fucking shit.

“Yeah, just, give me a minute,” Dean calls back shakily.

Cas waits outside.

It takes Dean a few minutes to steel himself, to try remind himself who he is, and the he pulls open the door. Cas is leant against the wall with his head bowed, which surprises Dean.

“I’m sorry,” Cas says quietly.

Dean’s heart stills. “Why?”

“Because I lied. I don’t know, either,” Cas says, looking up to meet Dean’s eyes. Bright with tears, the same as Dean’s. Cas moves forward and pushes back Dean’s hair, reaching up to kiss his forehead.

~

A loud knocking at Dean’s bedroom door wakes him up from a sleep so deep he’s not sure he was breathing.

“Goddamnit, I’m coming in,” Bobby rages from the other side of the door. The door swings open with might, bouncing back off the wall.

Dean sits bolt upright, completely disoriented by his fast wake-up call. “What the-”

“It’s nine thirty, Dean. You were meant to be in the garage a half hour ago,” Bobby growls.

“Oh.” Dean rubs his eyes, trying to get some focus.

Bobby sighs, his anger falling into something approximating disappointment. “Dean, if you were one of my team and only that, I’d have fire you a long time ago”

“Yeah, okay, Bobby. I’m getting up.”

“I mean it,” Bobby continues. “You don’t get your ass up in time any more, Dean…” Bobby leaves the sentence hanging, slamming the door shut as he leaves.

Dean hauls himself out of bed with great effort, ignoring the emptiness in his stomach. As one ignores a screaming toddler, at least. The effort makes him want to cry, but he pulls on some overalls blearily. It’s not really giving the right attitude if he shows up for work with a cup of coffee, he thinks with some sadness. He’ll have to leave it for his break.

He regrets that decision, for he’s dopey as anything when he actually reaches the garage. Reggie has to give him a hand with the dumbest things.

“Winchester, man, I swear you’re getting worse at this,” he says with an easy smile.

Dean smiles back. He agrees with Reggie, for fuck’s sake. His hand’s are even fucking shaking, and there’s something off about his hearing. Maybe he’s ill? He turns back to the car and it takes a while for his brain to catch up with the movement, and the noises in the garage muffle and vanish, being replaced with white noise, and his head is swimming and suddenly he feels sick, so sick, and there’s sweat running down his back and his vision is fading…

Dean wakes up to Bobby’s nervous face over his.

“He’s awake, thank fuck,” Bobby says, his face relaxing into a smile, patting Dean’s cheek. “The hell happened there, kid?”

“Hngh,” Dean tries to speak but it doesn't seem to work.

“Don’t move, you passed out.” Reggie’s broad face swims into view, paler than usual.

“How are you feeling? No, don’t move…” Bobby presses down on Dean’s shoulders, keeping him on the ground. It takes a minute or two before he lets go. “You okay?”

“Yeah…” Dean’s dazed, but he wants to get up. He props himself up on his elbows. Bobby and Reggie both hold out their arms and Dean takes them gratefully, hauling himself up and staggers, catching himself on Bobby.

“I’m okay,” Dean mumbles, his head spinning.

Bobby looks at him with some guilt on his face. “Go get some water and some food, and have a lie down. I’ll finish this off.”

Dean squeezes Bobby’s shoulder in gratitude.

The water helps to clear his head but Dean feels too nauseated to eat, so he just lies back on the couch in the main room and tries to sleep. He’s fainted before, a few times in fact, and he thinks he knows why he did this time. It usually follows long spells of throwing up, when he’s out of control with it. He wants to call Cas, sink into his arms and sleep for about a year.

There’s a beer stain on the couch from where Dad gave Sammy his first beer, got tipsy and knocked another one over. Dean and Dad had teased Sam silly for months afterwards about being such a lightweight.

He misses Sam.

He misses Dad.

Dean makes it back to the garage after lunch break, having eaten some tomato soup and drank two pints of water. He’s feeling more steady and up to the challenge of his workplace, in most respects. Everyone’s hot on him to ‘look after himself’ after the fainting spell.

And then Sam comes home again, when Dean’s not expecting it.

~

“What the hell, Dean?” asks Sam, standing in their bedroom, with the food suitcase open in front of him.

Staring down at his weaknesses, at the disgusting array of food, staring into the face of the thing that shames him so much he can’t quite believe it, Dean’s eerily calm.

“Jesus,” says Sam, sifting through wrappers. “God, Dean, you have any idea how bad this food is for you?”

He doesn’t get it. It’s just his big brother being a lazy, fat fuck. Sam tsks at all the wrappers, holding them up with expressions of disgust. “God, you’ve got to start eating better, you know your skin is shot to fuck from all of this?”

And then, because the world loves to crap on Dean when he’s down, Sam finds the bottle of Ipecac, and suddenly he knows everything. “You don’t keep it down, do you,” Sam concludes quietly. “Shit. Dean - that’s so bad for you - how long have you been…?” he looks up at Dean and down again, unable to face the answer.

“Shit,” repeats Sam. “I think we need to talk about this.”

“Sammy,” says Dean, his voice calm and firm. He goes to say that it’s not what he thinks, that Dean wouldn’t be that pathetic. “You’re my baby brother.”

“Yeah, Dean,” says Sam, his voice hoarse and tears in his eyes. “And you’re my big brother. Whatever’s wrong, let me help you.”

“It’s - Dad, Sammy, he’s -” Dean breaks off, shaking his head.

Sam nods. “I miss him. So much. But - Dean, this?”

Dean shrugs. “I miss him too,” he says shakily. “Why are you back here, anyway?”

Sam shrugs and sits on Dean’s bed, legs splayed and hands together. “College is kind of - it’s hard, in Berkeley. Big and kinda lonely. I’ve been missing my big brother a little bit.”

Dean sits next to him and slings an arm over his shoulders. “Yeah, Sammy,” he says weakly.

“Would you talk to Cas about this?”

Dean stiffens.

“You’ve got to talk to someone, Dean. See a therapist or something.”

Dean jumps up like he’s had an electric shock. “I’m not seeing a fucking therapist! Why would I?”

“Because you’ve got an eating disorder,” Sam retorts.

Dean flinches. “God, don’t say it like that.”

Sam screws up his face. “What else would I call it?” he asks, his voice raised.

“It’s not - I’m not - I’m not a fucking teenaged girl trying to keep her figure, for fuck’s sake!”

“What are you, then? What makes you  so special, so different, that it’s cool to puke up your food?”

He’s fat. But he can’t say that to Sam, can’t let him know how much it affects him. He can’t be that vulnerable and that… God, like it fucking matters.

Like it matters if Dean’s got ten pounds  that he should lose.

He knows it’s not important, then why has he been making himself throw up after he’s eaten too much for so long?

“Look at me, man!” he hisses furiously. .

“I am looking at you!” Sam yells back, just as furiously.

Dean rests his arms against the wall, his head against the cool plaster, running his fingers over his mouth. He turns around finally and avoids Sam’s eyes. “It’s not like I can’t afford to skip a meal or two,” he says, keeping his voice controlled.

Sam gapes at him. “It’s an illness, Dean,” he says, like he’s explaining it to a child. “You could be obese and bulimic at the same time, and you know what? You’d still need the help, it doesn’t matter what size you are.” He shakes his head, looking at Dean sadly. “Fucking dad…”

Dean rounds on him. “It’s not Dad’s fault I’m like this.”

“Dad was always having a go at you, of course it affected you-”

Dean whirls around and slaps the wall. “Damnit Sam! You don’t know what’s in my head, and don’t try to,” he spits out.

“I just wanna help you…”

“Yeah? Don’t.”

“Will you at least talk to Cas,” Sam pleads. There are tears on his face, and the anger drains from Dean.

“Why?” Dean asks finally. “Why the hell would I dump my crap on him?”

“So he can help you.”

“Why would he want to do that?”

“‘Cause he cares about you.”

Dean slumps down against the wall. He’s so very tired.

“I got help when I needed it, Dean, and I’m doing okay,” Sam says quietly.

“Yeah, fucking swell,” snorts Dean. “Back home again. And don’t give me crap about my food, Sammy, ‘cause you’re thin as anything.”

Sam shakes his head, defeated. “I’m struggling, I am. But I’m struggling as me. I’m an addict, and I always will be. But I’ve got treatment, and I’m practically normal now. Depression and bulimia, man… they’re illnesses. They’re treatable.”

Depression?

But Sam continues. “Talk to someone, Dean. Please. A therapist, Cas, Bobby, me…” Sam wipes his face on the sleeve of Dean’s old flannel and gets up from the bed. He packs away all the food and wrappers and Ipecac back into the case and slides it under the bed.

“You aren’t - you’re gonna leave that there?”

Sam shrugs. “Won’t do any good if I messed it about. Just - I know that if you puke, I think you’re meant to rinse your mouth out with water and bicarbonate of soda. Helps your teeth.”

Sam’s shaking, Dean realizes, when he stands back up. “I’m gonna go for a walk,” Sam says. “Might see Gabe or someone. Unless - you want me here?”

Dean shakes his head firmly. “Nah. Go for it.” He wipes his face and catches Sam’s arm before he leaves. “Just - thanks for not -” Dean shrugs. But Sam gets it. He nods and hugs Dean before leaving.

Cas has invited him over for the evening, the next day. He gets there, and the table is laid up and there’s a gorgeous smell drifting across from the kitchen.

“What’s this?” Dean asks, chewing on his lip?

Cas, behind him, kisses Dean’s neck. “Made us dinner.”

“Yeah, what is it?” he demands.

Cas frowns. “Uh - bruchetta, spaghetti carbonara and tiramisu-” he says but Dean’s shaking his head already.

“No, no, no,” Dean mutters. “Are you kidding me?” he asks, anguished, looking from Cas to the food frantically.

Cas pulls away from him, giving him space. “What’s the problem?” he says, facing Dean.

Dean shakes his head again. “Just - come on, man,” and suddenly he’s close to tears. “Carbonara is the worst - and tiramisu - all that fucking cream, man -” there’s an edge of hysteria in his voice and Cas takes his hands.

“Calm down, Dean. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Dean can only shrug helplessly. He can’t. “You made this, I can’t leave bits or- or-”

“You can eat as much or as little as you like… Dean, I don’t understand,” Cas says, confused.

It’s too much. It’s all too fucking much, his dad is dead and Cas made this meal that if Dean eats he won’t stop eating and he’ll have to throw it up or something and waste Cas’s good efforts and it’s just not what he’d expected. God!

“Why didn’t you warn me?” Dean snaps, doing his best not to collapse into tears.

“I didn’t - Dean?”

He’s been trying to keep composed but it’s breaking, he’s breaking so easily. He squeezes his eyes shut and digs his fingers into his arms. Cas hurries about, switching off the oven and leads Dean over to sit on his couch.

“I’m going to get some water and you’re going to drink it, understand?”

Dean hangs his head and tries to sort himself out. Tremors are shaking his body and there’s blood in his mouth - when did that happen? Ought to sew it up next, a cruel voice in his head says. It’s the only way to stop you eating, you fat fuck.

I’m not fat, he tries to tell himself.

Sure, not yet. The ‘yet’ taunts him. He shivers. Cas presses a glass into his hand and Dean drinks it down greedily, water dribbling down his front like he’s a fucking child but he’s got no control over that; his hands are shaking too badly.

Cas kneels down in front of him. “What’s wrong?” he urges. “Talk to me.”

“I can’t eat that, Cas.” He doesn’t see Cas’s reaction, as his eyes are still so tightly closed.

“Okay. Why can’t you?”

I’ll never stop. “I just can’t.” God, he’s really fucking up Cas’s romantic gesture here. He gropes blindly for Cas’s hand. “I’m sorry, I’m really fucking sorry.”

Cas squeezes his hand. “It’s okay, Dean.”

“No, it’s not, I’m ruining your-”

Cas shushes him with a cool finger to his lips. “Breathe, and relax.”

Dean cries instead. Neither of them expect it and first, it’s a painful, noisy sob, before Dean stiffens, mortified. But then the tears come and he can’t stop them. Cas lets him cry pathetically on his shoulder for a few minutes, before Dean pulls himself together. He can’t believe Dad’s dead. He starts to tell Cas about him, through his sobs and shudders. He’s not completely sure what he’s telling Cas but he thinks he’s telling about how Dad used to grin and pull him and Sammy into his arms, kissing them both on the forehead, telling them they were brave boys. His brave boys. Of when Dad gave him his old leather jacket, like perhaps Dean could fit it.

Dad who - and this was a lifetime ago - lifted Dean up and blew raspberries on his stomach and played games with him, making mud pies and lifting him up so he could kiss Mom on the cheek. He misses him.

“When was the last time you slept the night?” Cas asks kindly, once Dean’s stopped talking and slowed his sobbing.

“I’m always sleeping,” is the tearful answer.

“And you can’t eat this because?”

“I’m doing so well,” Dean mumbles, exhausted.

“Doing so well?”

“You have any idea of the calories in fucking carbonara?”

Cas pauses.

“It’s a lot,” Dean says shortly. God, he feels shit. His eyes feel too big for their sockets, gritty and horrible. Shitty for how he’s just acted, and it’s not like he can claim he’s got a real food problem because he’s not even thin. Fuck, he’s so tired of all of this. Of food mattering so much. Of all the anger, all the hate… he’s tired of being tired. He’s tired of himself.

If he prayed really hard, could he get another go at life? Dean rests his head on Cas’s shoulder. His head is thick and foggy.

“Come on,” he hears Cas say distantly. “Time for bed.”

Dean lets Cas pull him up and lead him to the bedroom, where he’s undressed and helped into bed.

“I’m going to get some orange juice and come right back, understand?” asks Cas.

Sure.

“Dean, answer me.”

Dean nods into the pillow. Cas leaves and returns quickly, as he’d promised, and Dean’s falling asleep by then but the tears are still coming. Cas gently pulls his head up, pressing the cool glass to his lips, so Dean can sip at the liquid. All he has to do is sip and that’s all he can focus on anyway, the sweet liquid sliding down his throat and his mind slips into unconsciousness before his body does.

Dean has a vague knowledge that there’s a warm body slipping beside him and wrapping around him but sleep takes him away.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovelies. I've realised the original way this was going was kind of shitty so to sort that there will in fact be an extra chapter. 
> 
> Usual warnings apply!!!
> 
> (Also, in the last chapter i'll mention the fic that inspired this but um the fic that inspired this actually really fucking triggers me as good as it is and I really hope this doesn't trigger anyone? The not want to trigger as much made me rewrite this. Yeah, just wanted to mention that)

It’s hard, the next morning, when Dean’s so fucking embarrassed he’d like to burst into flames.

And worse than that. Guilt. He’s ruined Cas’s romantic evening. What a total prick. And also, as it was something Cas had done that made Dean ruin the evening, what if Cas feels shitty about it? Not that it’s his fault, it’s Dean’s entirely, so he hopes Cas hasn’t any guilt.

God, Dean hates himself. If he could leave himself behind, he would. Like Dad left, like Sammy left. Mom was lucky, getting herself out. Sure, Dean knows they all love and loved him but you can love someone and leave them.

But he can’t leave himself behind. He’s stuck with this. And Cas is choosing to stick himself with this. Perhaps he’s so far into it now that he’d feel too guilty to leave, perhaps he’s aware that he’s all that tethers Dean. Maybe he should end it all and free Cas. But someone would have to find him, which would fuck them up. Could be an accident, walk into traffic or crash his car, accidentally mix pills…

Sam’s face comes into his mind, crying, lost. He can’t do that to Sam, but he’s really fucking tempted right now, as he lies in the warm bed in the dark, with Cas draped over him. He’s so tempted to end it all, and while Dean is a selfish dickbag, he can’t leave Sammy alone. He can’t do that.

But fuck, does he want to.

Cas is awake, rubbing his thumb on Dean’s hipbone. It’s supposed to be soothing but it starts to irritate Dean, like Cas is holding him here.

 _I’m sorry,_ would be his first words to Cas today, but he’s tired of being so fucking pathetic. Dean really fucking hopes this is what hitting rock bottom feels like, because if there’s lower he can sink than this... There must be something wrong with him. There has to be.

Fuck, there has to be something wrong with him.

“Do you want to get up?” Cas rumbles, beside him.

Dean ignores him; he rolls over and turns his face into the pillow. He feels Cas shifting around and getting up, but it’s dark for Dean and he keeps it that way. He knows when Cas leaves the room, because he strokes Dean’s head softly and kisses him.

“Hey, Deano,” says a mild voice some time later. “It’s me.”

Ellen? Jo? He’s not entirely sure who ‘me’ is. Now there’s someone else in Cas’s bedroom, he’s aware of himself, how he’s literally hiding his face and hiding from the world. Humiliation more than anything makes him turn his face to glance at the newcomer, and it’s a surprise to see Cas’s ex Meg standing in the doorway.

“Cas tells me you’re not all that cheery right now,” says Meg, sitting down on Cas’s bed.

“Are you kidding me,” Dean mutters into his pillow.

“Do you want to talk?”

“No.”

“Fine,” Meg replies, and she doesn’t move.

Dean waits and waits, but Meg doesn’t leave. Finally, he turns his head again to scowl at Meg.

“Cas said you were kinda upset yesterday, Deano,” Meg says brightly.

Dean rubs the back of his head and rolls over onto his back.

“How’s about you shower up and have some coffee downstairs? Cas has got a pot on.”

Dean exhales slowly, ignoring her.

Meg tsks at him and says, “Go shower,” very firmly, and she leaves the room. Dean doesn’t give a fuck anymore so he goes and does what Meg told him to do. The shower revives him, waking him up, making him feel more human and he’s able to go into the kitchen with his head high. Cas isn’t there, which Dean is grateful for. Meg serves him coffee and drapes herself across the counter. She’s at home in Cas’s house. To see it, Dean feels kind of uncomfortable, or maybe jealous. He sits down away from her, at the wooden table,

“So.” Meg doesn’t beat around the bush. “Cas has been talking to me about you and he’s worried about you. I agree with him, I think you should talk to someone.”

Dean plays with the coffee cup, acting as though Meg hadn’t spoken.

“What do you think about that?” Meg presses.

“You a shrink?” Dean asks curtly.

“Nope. Heading into pediatrics, if all goes well.”

Dean’s eyebrows shoot upwards. He would never have guessed, from the look of Meg. Still, he supposes she’s got an open charm about her, a vague softness he’d seen when she and Cas were together.

“You like kids?” Dean asks, stupidly.

Meg rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I do. Wouldn’t have minded with Cas, but…” Meg raises her eyebrows at him pointedly.

Dean scowls again. “Sorry,” he says sullenly. He’s not really sorry.

“You know,” starts Meg, “I used to try to use that, to keep him with me. He’s not able to have kids of his own with you, but then he went on about adoption.” The fond smile on her face cuts through Dean like a dagger. “I thought I should hate you for it.”

“Do you?” he asks, despite himself.

“A little bit. I’m still happy and so is Cas, so I don’t blame you.”

Dean crosses his arms over himself. “What is this, you’ll show me yours if I show you mine?”

“Basically,” Meg replies with a smile. She pours herself another cup of coffee.

Dean scrubs at his face. “C’mon.” The silence makes him itch. He could get up and out of the room but that’s so fucking dramatic. He has to say something. Jesus, he’s taken care of a violent, drunk Dad. He’s helped his kid brother grow up into a decent human being, he’s rebuilt a car from almost scratch, he’s passed high school. He can do this. Dean shrugs. “Cas musta told you about the - the thing, last night.”

“Thing?”

God, he’s so uncomfortable. “I don’t know,” he says fiercely. “I’m not great with - with this crap.” Dean bites his lip. Why is it so hard to just say it? Everyone knows. Not like if he doesn’t say it then no one would notice. “I’m not that great with food,” he says carefully.

“What about otherwise? Anything on your mind?”

Dean shrugs again.

And then she does it. She utters the phrase, “How do you feel?” and Dean’s not fucking doing this.

He jumps up, out of his seat. “Fuck you, that’s how I feel,” he seethes. “What gives you the goddamn right to - to diagnose me or whatever?”

“I don’t know, my medical qualification?” Meg replies with a snarl. She takes a breath to compose herself and says, “Cas thinks you’ve been feeling low for a while. Depressed, perhaps.”

“Depressed?” Dean repeats, scathing. “Why do people keep-”

Meg raises an eyebrow. “Keep thinking you are?” she asks pointedly.

Dean flushes and crosses his arm again. He shakes his head quickly, but he ducks his head. “Am I?” he asks in a low voice.

“I think there’s a possibility you could be. I would recommend you talk to someone more specialized.”

Dean rubs his face again and sits back down. He could be depressed. It’s a different sentence now there’s a professional considering it.

“And I’m not great with eating disorders,” say Meg, carrying on doggedly. “I think you’d better talk to someone about that anyway.”

“I don’t have an eating disorder,” Dean snaps.

“So, you don’t eat a crapload and throw it all up later?”

Dean’s skin prickles and his heart rate increases. He’s sweating again. “How did you know that?” he asks, the fight leaving him.

“I called your brother, talked to Cas. And there’s some telltale scars on your knuckles.” Meg gestures to his left hand, where there’s the hard skin and cuts from where his teeth knock his knuckles when his fingers are down his throat. “How are your teeth, anyway?”

Dean runs his tongue over them, self conscious. She’s right, they’re pretty bad.

“Fuck, I’m being so unprofessional,” Meg sighs heavily. “I get it, okay? I get that you’re dealing with your sexuality, that this eating thing and depression are a part of your life. But listen to me here: they’re not you.”

Dean breathes out heavily and looks at Meg, unimpressed.

“Dean, they’re illnesses like any other. They’re treatable.”

~

 _“So… there’s this girl,”_ Sam starts, hesitant and nervous.

Ahh. That’s why Sam’s been so distracted recently. “Oh yeah?”

“ _Yeah… she’s really cute - and totally smart. We… uh….”_

“Go on, how’d you meet her?”

 _“She’s my lab partner,”_ Sam grins. _“She’s called Jessica. I think I might ask her out…”_

“What does she look like?”

Sam sighs happily, probably without realizing. What a dweeb his little brother is. _“She’s tall - almost your height, dude. And blonde, she’s got the most beautiful curly blonde hair...”_

He keeps tailing off his sentences, sounding stoned. That’s Sammy when he’s got it bad.  “Sammy?”

_“Hmm?”_

“Go for it. Ask her out.”

_“I was thinking - there’s this sweet little jazz bar, they do poetry readings and jazz music and it’s so-”_

Dean pretends to throw up down his end of the phone. “That sounds shit. But, hey, if you think she’d go for it…”

Sam goes for it, calling Dean excitedly a few days later with the news that she’s asked him on the second date, and ‘they’ve kissed and everything!’

Sweet. But, even though there’s a budding new romance in his little brother’s life, and Dean’s really happy for him, Dean’s in a crappy mood. Like, crappier than crappy. Unbelievably shit, and nothing can lighten it. The third time Dean snaps at a customer, Bobby pulls him aside ‘for a word’ in his office. Dean slams the door in his way in and Bobby rolls his eyes.

“What?” Dean demands. He flops into a chair and crosses his arms. He’s very tempted to rest his biker boots on Bobby’s desk but that might be pushing it.

“The attitude. Get rid of it.”

Dean scoffs.

“Fine,” says Bobby, trying to control his temper. “Tell me what’s wrong, then.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Dean says irritably.

“Right,” says Bobby, unimpressed.

It’s true he’s being an irritable dickwad, but according to Meg, that’s what depressed people do. If he’s that, anyway. He’s still trying to decide if it’s worth pursuing. And he can hardly afford a shrink anyway, or meds or whatever. And it’s embarrassing. And what the fuck does Meg even know? She just wants to drive him away, get Cas back for herself.

“Nothing’s wrong, for fuck’s sake!” he explodes at Bobby.

“Yeah, I really believe that,” Bobby says sarcastically.

Is Dean really paranoid enough to believe that Meg’s got an ulterior motive? Anyway, Dean totally puts it on. God, he’d had the best fucking phone call with Sam yesterday, they’d talked for hours, and Dean was grinning and laughing and he went to bed in the best mood.

Bobby scowls and slaps the table to get Dean’s attention. “Go work, then. And be polite, damnit.”

Dean mirrors Bobby’s scowl.

“Buck up!” barks Bobby.

Dean turns away angrily. He stands up and pushes the chair away from him and it scratches across the floor, with a sound that makes him shudder. “We done?” he asks rudely.

“Yeah, we’re done,” grunts Bobby.

“Awesome,” says Dean and stomps back into the garage like some moody teenager. He doesn’t know where this anger is coming from; Dean’s always been prone to get hurt instead of getting angry, especially anger that lasts. Sam’s the one with the rage issues; even as a kid, Sam would stamp his foot and demand better, raging and cursing as good as a sailor until he’d tire himself out. And Sam’s anger bottles and grows and he gets only more eloquent with it. Dean easily forgets his real anger, masks it with trivial crap.

It flares up over the week, he has Cas come over but acts like such a snippy fuck that Cas leaves early and Bobby clouts him over the head.

“What the hell’s going on, Dean?” Bobby asks, shutting the door behind Cas.

Dean shrugs. “I’m going to bed,” he snaps, grabbing a bottle of whisky on the way.

And then he’s fine the next day. He’s perfectly pleasant, in fact, if a little bit grouchy from his hangover and he swears at Gordon a few times but that’s nothing new. He’s starting to wear on Cas and Bobby, though. His mood has never been so unpredictable and he finds sleep eluding him more and more - so he does a time honoured Winchester tradition.

He drinks.

Dean’s angry, at a lot of things. And he’s completely fucking depressed because he’s a pathetic shitbag and Cas is gonna dump him anyway, it may well be on his own terms.

By drinking, instead of talking to the guy.

Sam comes home for summer.

Summer. He’s been there a whole fucking year - well, two fucking college semesters. Which don’t last long, actually. Dad’s been dead a while, like three months. How long have he and Cas been together? He’d text him to ask but he’s not talking to Cas right now.

Although, Dean’s not sure why he’s not talking to him. Is that a self imposed regulation or something Cas enforced? No, Cas has nothing but slack for Dean. He can’t seem to scare Cas off at all.

Anyway, Sam’s home. He hugs Dean and then pulls away, sniffing him suspiciously. “You smell like Dad,” he says bluntly.

Dean scowls. “No, I don’t. Bite me.”

Sam shrugs, pushing the issue aside. “How’s it all here?”

“Usual,” Dean grunts. He pulls open the fridge and the fridge door hits the wall and rebounds back. He pulls out a couple of beers and hands one to Sam, who raises his eyebrows at him.

“What?”

“Nothing,” says Sam.

“Why are you looking at me so weird?”

“I’m not,” Sam replies with wide, innocent eyes.

Dean takes the caps off the bottles with his ring and hands one to Sam. “Sure you’re not.”

“Can I put my bag down first?”

“Do whatever you want, Sammy.” Dean goes out for a smoke with his beer, and Sam tails him after dumping his crap.

“Seriously, dude, how are you?” asks Sam.

“Oh, what, seriously?”

“Shut up.”

It’s weakness, that’s what it is. Dean’s kneeling in front of the toilet again, his knees ache and his knuckles bleed and his stomach hurts and his head throbs and his throat is raw…

Sam hammers on the door. “Dean, c’mon, I need a piss.”

His stomach clenches one last time and he heaves, and then flushes and rinses his mouth and Sam won’t think he’s doing that, will he?

Yeah, he totally does. Sam shakes his head but doesn’t say anything.

Now Sam’s back, Dean spends his lunch breaks lounging about in the main room of the house. Sam spends most of his time talking about nerdy college stuff or, more often, Jessica. So far, Sam’s given Dean a complete rundown of what Jessica wore the first time they met and their first date, and all subsequent dates. Also, what their favorite topics of conversation are, and Jessica’s favorite book and how Sam’s reading it too, and how it’s actually pretty awesome and he can’t wait to call her in the evening and discuss. And Dean knows about her political views and Sam’s opinions of the flaws of her persuasions but how he’s pleased that they can have such intense discussions.

Yeah. Dean’s pretty sure he knows all he could know about Jessica. Except for her bra size, something he’d kind of like to know because he’s a total pervert, who’s previously got with three of Sam’s girlfriends.

But Dean’s got his own boyfriend now, one who calls him up and saves him from the conversation about Jessica’s pets. _“Hello, Dean,”_ Cas says warmly down the phone.

Dean stretches back on the couch. As little as he wants to admit it, Cas’s voice soothes him. Only, he doesn't want to be soothed. “Hey,” he replies, looking uneasily at Sam.

Sam grins knowingly. “Oh, Cas,” he mimicks a moan. “Cas, oh - God-”

Dean throws a cushion at him, and then a coaster. It thwacks Sam’s head with a satisfying noise and Sam swears at him.

_“Dean - what’s going on?”_

“Nothing, Cas,” and he yelps when Sam hurls the remote control at him. “Sam being a little shitbag, that’s all.”

_“Tell him hello from me.”_

“Hey, Sammy, Cas says screw you.”

 _“Hilarious,”_ Cas sighs, but Dean’s pretty sure he’s smiling. _“I need to see you. I’ll meet you at the diner tonight at about six. Can you make that?”_

“What? I guess…”

 _“I’ll see you tonight,”_ and Cas hangs up. Dean stares in shock at the phone in his hand.

“Everything okay?” Sam asks.

Dean licks his lip and squares his shoulders. “Awesome. Want a beer?”

“Dude, it’s one pm.”

Dean throws another coaster at Sam, just because he can. But Cas had sounded worrying official on the phone, and deep in his stomach he’s unsettled. Sam flicks a coaster back at him and it hits Dean in his mouth so Dean gets up and punches Sam in the shoulder and walks out of the room.

“Fucking hell, Dean!” Sam yells after him.

Dean almost goes up and binges again but then he catches sight of the Impala, sitting lonely in the yard. Instead of filling his body with crap and puking it all up, he goes to work on his baby for a couple of hours, very much ignoring the whole Cas situation. See, he doesn’t need professional help.

~

Cas isn’t there yet. Dean sits and plays with a cup of coffee, flirting harmlessly with the waitress. It’s only light flirting, ‘cause Dean flirts with everyone, but she’s cute and curvy and it’s fun until she asks if he’s waiting for anyone.

“Yeah… my boyfriend.”

“Oh,” she colors. “That’s nice.”

“Mm.”

“Refill?”

The diner’s strangely empty for early evening, so he and the waitress have a lot of time to talk while waiting for Cas. Somehow, they end up discussing _The Lord of the Rings_ and which movie is their favorite and - something very close to Dean’s heart - which speech of Sam’s is the best. Dean favors the first movie where Sam follows Frodo into the river despite not being able to swim. The waitress - Beth - prefers towards the end of _The Two Towers_ where Sam talks about hope.

They’re really getting into arguing their points, Beth topping up Dean’s coffee every five minutes so she can have an excuse to hang around him, and finally Cas arrives.

His goddamn trenchcoat, his blue tie twisted round the wrong way, a coffee stain on his white shirt. Dean’s boyfriend, and he kind of looks pissed.

“Coffee?” Dean offers. Beth hastens to get Cas a cup, even though he’s not asked for it yet, but Dean’s never known him to turn down coffee.

Cas sits down heavily opposite him, looking very tired.

“Dude, you okay?” asks Dean, reaching out to touch his arm, and then thinking better of it and letting his hand just awkwardly lay there in the middle of the table.

Beth comes back with Cas’s coffee and winks at them both before sauntering off.

“I’m sorry, Dean.” Cas shakes his head. “I’ve had the worst day.”

“Work?”

“Yes.” Cas adds a gross amount of sugar to his coffee and drinks half his cup straight off the bat.

Cas’s new job is something to do with numbers, Dean’s not all that sure. Anyway, he works with a bunch of people and doesn’t get on with them, much prefers to do things alone. Most of the people he works with are younger than him and arrogant little pricks, by the sounds of things. Sometimes, Cas says he misses the army. Dean knows he doesn’t, not really, because in this job he doesn’t hurt anyone.

“I’m sorry, Dean, I wish I was in a better mood.” Cas looks down at the table.

“For what?” Dean asks, fearing the worst.

Cas opens his mouth and then shakes his head. He’s not going to say what he had intended. “You binge and purge,” he says quietly, and… no.

Dean sits back from the table. He’s not doing this. He crosses his arms over his chest and is ready to bolt, but he loves Cas.

“You know you have me, Sam, Bobby… Jo and Ellen, your friends, Dean?”

Dean tightens his lips.

“Why?” Cas finally looks up.

Dean wants to laugh in his face. So he does, cruelly. He’s not fucking answering. He knows why he does it, kind of. The food tastes good going down, and it’s so hard to control what he eats if he goes a while without eating. But also, the rush of food in his body makes him need more and more, and then suddenly he’s guilty and revolted and can’t let himself indulge like this.

He can’t explain that to Cas. And he doesn’t want to, it’s his business.

“I care a great deal for you, Dean,” Cas says. “It surprises me how much. Have you tried to get help?”

Dean keeps an impassive face. It’s been a fair few weeks since the night he broke down in front of Cas, and since seeing Meg that one time he’s done his best to pretend it never happened, his current mood swings aside.

“I assume your silence means no.”

“Cut to the crap, Cas,” Dean says abruptly.

“Please do me the honour of informing me why you’re not getting help,” Cas says, steely.

Dean shrugs. “Dunno.”

“It’s like talking to a child,” Cas mutters.

“Stop acting like a parent then,” Dean shoots back.

Cas dumps more sugar into his coffee and takes an angry gulp. “Why are you not getting help?”

“I’m a grown ass man.”

“Yes, with an illness!” Cas hisses, but it comes out louder than intended and Beth looks over to them.

“More coffee, guys?” she asks.

“Please,” Dean says, at the same time as Cas saying, “No, thank you.”

“Uh -” Beth dithers.

Cas waves her away rudely. “Five minutes, please.”

“Sure,” she says.

“Geez, Cas, she’s just doing her job,” says Dean, scowling.

“I can’t do this if you’re not getting help, Dean,” Cas says, his blue eyes cutting into Dean.

“Huh?” It’s like he’s been slapped, because he knew this was coming but he didn’t _really_ know it, not really.

Cas drops his head down to the table again, and when he looks up he’s tired again instead of angry. “I mean it. I can’t sit here and let you let yourself be so… so possessed by this. I can’t be with someone who won’t help himself.”

“Oh, Jesus, like it’s my fucking fault?” Dean leans forward now, glaring up at Cas and jigging his knee up and down.

“Obviously, no,” Cas rolls his eyes, “but you need help, Dean!”

“Screw you, Cas,” Dean bites. “I can look after myself, you know.”

“Clearly you’re not,” Cas retorts.

“If you wanna break up with me, fine. We’re through.” Dean stands up from the table and slams a handful of dollars down - he’s got no idea how much he’s giving Beth but who cares? - and then he walks away from the table.

Cas doesn’t get up to stop him but he mutters something at the table. And then he’s in the crappy car that isn’t his baby and driving home and pulling the whisky out of Bobby’s stash and drinking on the porch, silently fuming.

And boyfriend-less.

~

Cas doesn’t text him the next day. Or the next, or even the next. Sam drags him out on a run to get his mind off things, but when Dean goes running he likes to sprint for as long as he can and then limp the rest of the way, feeling nauseated and angry with himself. Sam takes it at a steady pace but goes for a long way, and Dean’s totally shattered by the end of it. Sam sits him down and gives him a glass of water and tells him to sip it slowly and absolutely not to drink it all at once and Dean doesn’t get why he’s so worried until he’s able to feel his legs again and realizes his vision is slowly coming back, although he hadn’t realized he’d lost it.

“Dude!” Sam exclaims, sitting down finally. He hands Dean a banana, and says, “Eat this. And keep it down, fucking hell, Dean.”

Awesome. He’s a burden now. Dean starts drinking.

It’s three in the afternoon, and he’s drinking whisky, and the look Sam gives him makes him feel as small as an ant, like the shittiest person in the world, so he gulps down more.

It’s the look Sam used to give Dad, Dean realizes with sickening certainty. He chokes on his next mouthful and shit, slow down, he tells himself, but with the exercise he’s starting to feel the effects of the whisky within ten minutes. Bobby’s meant to be out for the whole evening and originally, Dean had intended to invite Cas over for dinner with him and Sam, but no chance of that any more. He goes up to Dad’s room, ignoring Sam’s reproachful gaze, and plants the bottle on Dad’s desk.

It’s four in the afternoon, according to the old clock that ticks and chimes in the corner. Dean wonders if Dad kept it wound when he lived here, or maybe Bobby came in and did it every week as he does now, unable to trust Dad even with a clock.

He’s not numb when he drinks, but the emotions are more distant. The dumb crap matters more to Dean and the stuff he should probably address is easy to mask the more whisky he drinks. Staring at the table, he really does get why Dad threw his life away for this stuff. He always kind of has, but he can’t really bring himself to care about Sam and Cas and Bobby, anyone really, other than himself. It’s a lot easier this way. Dean texts Cas only once, which he feels is remarkably restrained for his drunken, emotional state.

Sam comes up, eventually. It’s just past five, or maybe six, Dean’s not that sure. He pours another drink, aware Sam’s saying something to him but there’s a sudden motion and the bottle lies broken on the floor, whisky and glass covering the rug. Was that him or was it Sam? Dean didn’t even hear the crash.

Sam slaps him, and that hurts. Kind of. It shocks him, more than anything, rattles his brains a bit. Dean looks dumbly at Sam, all floppy haired and sharp jawed and all grown up, with his girlfriend and his job and his college.

“God, you fucking idiot,” Sam says, pinching Dean’s forearm. Okay, that hurts more than the slap. And then Sam vanishes - well, probably doesn’t vanish, but he was there - _r_ _ight there_ \- wait, he’s there again and there’s a glass in his hand. Clear liquid, but it’s probably not vodka like Dean kind of wants, it’s normal water. Waste of stomach space, he tries to tell Sam, but the words don’t come out properly so maybe, maybe he should drink the water. Water’s good, right? And alcohol’s a… the thing that makes you pee. And he’s peed a lot so far, he thinks. Yeah, water would waterate him.

“Hydrate,” he says with a frown. Or tries to, his tongue gets in the way. But yeah, hydrate is the word, not waterate. He giggles, but then realizes his college boy baby bro probably thinks he’s a fucked up loser like their dad, and Dean’s miserable again. Not like he needs Cas or Sam, he’s got his good friend Jack. Jack’s never let him down, and in fact he wants more.

Dean reaches out for the whisky bottle but it’s not where he remembered it… oh, right. He or Sam or someone knocked it to the floor. He sees Sam leave the room this time and return with another glass of water, which Dean drinks like a good boy, and lets Sam drag him up and out of Dad’s room and Sam says some things to him like clean your teeth but bed is there, all inviting and soft and Dean’s head is so thick and heavy and he drops onto it, but the room spins and makes Dean feel sick. Shutting his eyes doesn’t help. He feels horrible, his head is spinning and his stomach is churning and he hopes he doesn’t puke in his sleep, because Dean can’t really fight off sleep, he just sinks off, feeling sick and gross and thinking about how sick and gross he feels…

Dean’s throwing up a lot of liquid at fuck knows am, when dawn is just coming, and crap his head hurts but he’s still kind of a little drunk, and Dean could fall asleep as he is, curled up against the cool cistern and…

“Really?” Sam slams on the light and scowls down at Dean.

Dean whines and shields his face from the light.

“Are you sleeping against our toilet?”

“No,” Dean says, to make Sam go away. He’s sleepy, and who cares if it’s a toilet. Sleep is fucking important, damn it.

But Sam gets in the way like the fucking busybody he is and pulls Dean up and more fucking water, really? But then he gets to bed again and that’s kind of awesome, if only his head didn’t feel so horrible and his stomach wasn’t all gross, but then he’s falling asleep again.

Sam has no sympathy for him the next day, just advises him to drink a lot of water and salt and sugar, something about his electrolyte balance.

“Which, really, Dean, given your binging and purging should probably be completely out of whack anyway.”

Dean’s really starting to hate the casual way everyone refers to it. He ignores Sam and brings the blanket he’s got over himself higher up, over his face, but then he’s breathing in hot air and actually feels he’s being stifled.

“Why’d Cas break up with you anyway?”

God, can people be a bit fucking more sensitive around him? Not like he fucking wants to relive the break up. He does his best not to think about Cas at all, in fact. He pinches himself really hard and starts humming Led Zeppelin. He’d rather think about Dad than Cas. He’s so deliberately not thinking of Cas, in fact, that there’s two texts on his phone from Cas and he’s not looking at them. Not at all.

Mom or Cas?

Cas, definitely.

“If you don’t tell me, I’m only gonna call him up.”

Sam’s an insensitive fucking clod.

“Fine, I’ll call him.”

And he fucking does, the little shit. Goes away and comes back a half hour later, bearing coffee and pie and a more sympathetic expression. “I could put a movie on,” Sam offers.

“Die hard,” Dean replies quickly.

Sam rolls his eyes. “Obviously.”

Sam lets Dean mope for a week in total before he really addresses the issues. It’s kind of nice, having Sam look out for him and take control in his life, like how he used to do for Sam, but also really fucking irritating.

“Dean, I’m making an appointment for you with the doctor,” Sam says first thing in the morning, because he gets up early even though it’s his holidays. Dean looks over at Bobby uneasily, but Bobby’s drinking his coffee with a straight face, and he just lets Sam talk.

“Dude, seriously?”

“Yes, seriously,” Sam bitches at him.

“God, you’re such a whiny little bitch.”

“And you’re an annoying jerk.”

But Sam makes the appointment, and just to be sure he goes, Bobby even drives him. How fucking embarrassing. And the doctor is a chick. Is that better or worse than a guy doctor?

Better, much better. Definitely a hell of a lot better, because the doctor looks at him with sympathy, even if she does seem a bit out of her depth when Dean struggles to explain his problems. He speaks gruffly and sugarcoats everything and a defiant part of him gets angry about how uncomfortable he feels, and the uncomfortable expression on her face has no right to be there because she’s fucking there to help him.

But surprisingly, she does help him. She prescribes him fucking antidepressants and gives him a number to call about…

About fucking therapy.

She wants him to get therapy.

Goddamn therapy, so he can talk about his feelings with someone. Dean needs a few minutes to himself to calm down after the appointment so he goes around the side of the building, out of sight of Bobby, to smoke a cigarette. He lights the second straight off the first and then there’s a third and shit, that’s a lot of cigarettes in a short space of time. But hey, he’s calm enough to slide into the seat beside Bobby and nod to all his questions and get home and not cry or something. He shows Bobby and Sam the antidepressants he’s been given and escapes into the Impala as soon as he can, where he lies on his back in her trashed seats.

Wasn’t too bad.

Kind of. He does have a headache though, the kinds he used to get when he was struggling and really unhappy at school. Hey, maybe he was depressed back then too. At least he has a reason for being such a dumbass.

The antidepressants have a lot of possible side effects. It’s Zoloft she gave him. A month’s worth of 50mg a day, straight off, and an appointment to review within the month. But, she’d warned him it can take up to six weeks to work, and most patients feel better after combining the pills with therapy.

Which had been Sam’s second question, of course. Did they think Dean should get therapy?

Dean had grunted his affirmative and then there was a barrel of more questions and that’s when he’d gone to hide in the Impala. Today doesn’t feel real to Dean, not Sam’s steely determination to fix him and not Bobby’s gruff obedience.

He pulls out his phone and looks at his text messages, more specifically, the two unopened from Cas. He’s very wary of them, because reading over what he’d typed when drunk is absolutely gonna embarrass him painfully, and what Cas replies could well destroy him.

Still. Today, Dean went out and got help. He can do this, he can read three stupid text messages.

 _Save me cas_ , Dean had typed. Embarrassing. Really, really fucking embarrassing.

 _I can’t_ , _Dean,_ Cas had replied.

_You have to do that for yourself._

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The penultimate chapter (psst the final is an epilogue I'm sorry) and I'm also sorry it took me so long but hey I wrote 9k in one day can I get a fucking hell yeah? 
> 
> Usual warnings apply. I'm really sad to see the end of this fic.

It’s not like it’s never occurred to Dean that the only sustainable way of helping himself would be to be the one who helps himself, as obvious as that sounds. Save himself. Right.

First step, take the Zoloft. One pill a day, that’s easy, right? Only, he took one on the day after he went to the doctor, which was a Monday or something, and now it’s Friday and only three pills from his pack have been taken. Woops.

There’s a lot of bullshit to begin with. Additional doctor appointments, where Dean’s weighed and they take his blood and perform a general health check, in which he pees in a cup. Sam stays as close to his side as he can, probably convinced Dean’s gonna go top himself now he’s not got a boyfriend.

Boyfriend. It’s such a lousy word for Cas, so fucking juvenile. Soulmate, lover, love of his life. He’s Cas, that’s who he is, and that’s all that’s important. Anyway, he’s nothing now. Just an ex, and Dean’s got to save himself before he can see if Cas still has any sort of respect for him. He’s tired. He’s too fucking tired to deal with all of this, so he just lets Sam and Bobby sort out his life for him. Sam dictates when he wakes by reminding him he actually has a fucking job, and together they sort out what Dean eats and when. It’s not subtle at all but Dean goes with it. They take control, and Dean lets them, and it’s so much easier than having to sort it himself.

Day six since he started taking the Zoloft, which is the fourth day he’s actually taken the pills, and he wakes up with his jaw aching and head painful. He sits at the table with his eyelids slipping shut, rubbing the joints of his jaws.

“You okay?” Sam asks, way too bright for so early.

Dean massages his jaw and ignores Sam.

He’s feeling a bit queasy too.

“Wanna do something today?”

“Like what?”

Sam blinks, like he’d not expected Dean to reply with anything that wasn’t a negative. “What were you gonna do?”

“Uh…” God, thinking is such a slow process. He’s so drowsy, so groggy, it’s like he’s hungover. Did he drink last night? He went to bed early… probably. Did he? Maybe not, maybe he went to bed so late and that’s why he’s so out of it. It’s worrying that he can’t remember but he brushes it aside. Wait, Sam asked him a question. “I’m gonna…” He passes his eyes over the kitchen. There’s a wash to be done, and Baby’s sitting outside, ignored. He’s probably gonna spend the day on his back sorting out her roof and clean her as much as he can, if he can bring himself to.

Sam follows his gaze out of the window. “You gonna do some work on the Impala?”

Dean nods slowly.

Sam bites his lip. “Can I help, at all?”

Dean’s eyebrows raise against his will. For years after the accident, Sam had given the car a wide berth and shuddered when he’d looked at her, and he’s never really shown much interest since. Of course, Sam probably can’t stand the idea of Dean being alone.

Or, just maybe, he likes spending time with Dean.

“Gonna do some cleaning up of her. Go for that?”

And god, does she need it. In ten years, Dean’s been in her front seat to sit and ponder his life, he’s used her trunk but that’s pretty much it. Sam gets on trying to sweep the car floor before pulling out the car vacuum cleaner from the garage as Dean starts to clean up the leather… and really, there’s no cleaning he can do for the leather. It’s ruined, from glass and blood stains and age. He gives up and moves on to cleaning her outside as much as possible. It’s just a basic clean, get off the dust and leaves and age. The rims are rusted and shot;  two are bent and ruined from the crash but two can probably be salvaged, so Dean works on them. Sam, long finished with his sweeping and vacuuming, comes out from the front door bearing a tray with coke, sandwiches, chips and apples.

"Hey, Dean, lunch time."

Likewise, as Bobby and Sam won't admit to it, Dean won't admit how much easier that makes his life. Sometimes, choosing what to eat can be the fucking hardest thing he's ever done, and being released of the pressure of it makes the whole thing easier.

He doesn't have to be in control any more.

~

Dean's therapist is a chick and she's kind of gorgeous. She's called Cassie and says he can call her Cass, if he wants.

Dean winces. "Cassie's fine," he says.

"Sure." Cassie leans back in her seat. "What brings you here, Dean?"

Dean licks his lip. They'd had phone conversations, roughly detailing what issues he has and discussing payment. She knows what's brought him here.

Cassie sits comfortably in the silence, looking away from Dean, very clearly waiting for him.

"Can I help you start?" Cassie asks, after a couple of minutes of really painful silence.

"Please," Dean relaxes back in relief.

"What we talked about on the phone… you have a bad relationship with food, instances of depression, your father's recently deceased, and you ended a relationship not very long ago?"

Yeah, that sort of sums it up.

"How would you like to begin?"

Dean absolutely would not like to begin. He looks out of the window, where the rain pours down. The rain's so heavy, he can't actually see anything, and there's nothing to be distracted by. Fuck.

He can look at Cassie's thick lips instead, all soft and dark and gorgeous, but then she raises her eyebrow like she knows what's going through Dean's head.

"Do you want to talk?" asks Cassie.

"Here, aren't I?" Dean grunts.

"Yes, you are. But this is your time, Dean. You're not paying to talk, you're paying for time."

Dean blinks at her. "What the hell does that mean?"

Cassie smiles, her eyes lighting up. "It means we can spend it how you want."

"Are you coming on to me? 'Cause I gotta tell you…"

"Dang, I thought I was being so damn smooth," Cassie replies.

Dean smiles, despite himself. "So, what, if I said nothing for the whole hour, you're cool with that?"

"Sure. Long as you don't think it's a waste of your money."

"Hour with you, a waste of my time?" Dean pulls on his winning smile. "Sweetheart, you're kidding me, right?"

"You're right, I am one fine woman."

He likes her. Does that make this easier or harder?

"So, you work in a garage?"

Dean nods and licks his lips. "My… A family friend, Bobby. He owns it, I been working there for years."

"You enjoy it?"

"I like cars, sure."

"Yeah?"

"They're easy. No muss, no fuss. Getting a totaled car and fixing her up, letting her ride away at the end of it all sweet… I love it."

Cassie nods. She has a notepad in her hand but hasn't written anything yet. "So you like the work. And the job as a whole?"

"Pretty good. Work with this one douchebag, Gordon. Homophobic son of a bitch, though we were friends once. Until I realized he was a homophobic douchebag,” he adds for clarification.

“Sure. Was this when you came out?”

Dean bites his lip. “No… There was this - and I was drunk - and Gordon saw I was interested…”

Cassie waits, probably for him to elaborate. He just lets her wait because he doesn’t want to talk about it. In fact, there’s a lot he doesn’t want to talk about. Not to someone who’s paid to fucking hear him whine, how embarrassing. It’s all over surprisingly fast. Cassie shakes his hand at the end and says she’ll see him next week, and then they part.

Dean feels kind of shaky as he leaves the building, kind of overwhelmed. They didn’t discuss much that really upsets him, but they touched upon a bit of everything, and he doesn’t like talking about himself. Not things that matter.

At least they didn’t talk about Cas.

It’s past seven by the time he gets home. Sam and Bobby are in the kitchen, both deeply absorbed in their books until he comes through the door.

“How was it?” Sam asks quickly.

“Okay,” replies Dean. He gets a beer out of the fridge and goes to work on the Impala. A week’s proper work has done the old girl some good. She’s got real potential, and it’s the first time he’s really thinking he might get her perfect.

They mentioned Mom in therapy, but Dean had shot down that conversation quickly. Dean runs a hand over his mouth. Right, the car. She’s starting to look less smashed up and more proper car shaped, once he gets the bumps out of the hood. Have her back and running, like she hasn’t been for ten years. The car Dad’s loved so much, the car that brought both Dean and Sam home from the hospital, in Mom’s arms…

If the fire never happened, Dean probably wouldn’t be so fucked up. As far as Dean understands it, the fire was well underway before Mom and Dad noticed it. Dean remembers the fire, but he forgot about it for a while. Until he was fourteen, fifteen, he thought he couldn’t remember the fire, until he’d had dreams about it, realizing they weren’t just nightmares but actually memories.

He’d woken up for some reason, maybe the heat, maybe the smell, maybe her screams… and he’d seen the flames, saw Mom in Sammy’s nursery with no way to get out, and then he’d stepped back and back, until he hit the hot wall. Then Dad gave him Sammy in a blanket, told him to take Sammy and run, and then he was out the house and watching his home burn.

Dean’s face is wet.

He wipes it half heartedly and the wipes it again, with conviction this time. He’s going to bed.

~

Cassie wants to see him twice a week. The money worries Dean but part of it is covered by the insurance from Bobby’s garage, and the rest they can kind of afford. Bobby and Sam remind him it’s worth it. His health is more than worth it.

“How’ve you been?” asks Cassie as they sit down opposite each other.

“Okay, I guess,” Dean replies shortly.

“Is there anything you would like to talk about today?”

Dean shrugs and looks out the window. It’s not raining today, it’s sunny and bright and true June. Sammy’s at his NA meeting now. Cas is probably there. Would they talk? Probably. They must do.

“I don’t know. What do you think we should talk about, Doc?”

“Whatever you want, Dean.”

And then they sit in silence again. For four long minutes, neither say a word, until Cassie breaks the silence. “I will sit here in silence, Dean. Don’t think I’ve not done it before. Like I said last time, it’s your choice. But if you’re just doing it to challenge me…”

“You said I could spend the time however I want,” says Dean.

“That’s right.”

Dean’s the one to break the silence the next time. “So I guess I’m not all that comfortable with the whole… liking dudes, thing.”

Cassie nods.

“Like, I’m pretty sure I’ve always known - I mean, I don’t get how you can not like someone because of their gender, it just doesn’t make sense to me… But -” he breaks off, shaking his head. “I don’t know… and since - I don’t think I care that I’m not comfortable.”

“Since?”

Dean licks his lip. “Dad… When he died… I don’t know, I guess I’m not -” Fuck, this is hard. “Sammy’s doing great at Berkeley.”

Cassie doesn’t appear bothered by the sudden change of conversation.

“He’s got a girlfriend - well, almost. Think they’re going to meet up in a couple of weeks. She’s at Stanford, the college he wanted to go to.”

“You sound very proud.”

“Very proud. He’s a great kid.”

“And your father wasn’t around very much when you were young, did that mean Sam depended on you a lot?”

Dean nods. “Yeah, definitely.” More of a dad to Sam than Dad was, at times.

“That must have been tough. Sam’s four years younger than you?”

“Yeah, and a couple of months.”

“And you looked after Sam from how old?”

Dean shrugs. As far as he can remember, he started taking the slack from Dad from the minute he was given Sam. “Pretty young, I guess.”

“And you were four when your mother died?”

Dean nods again and looks away from Cassie. He hates it when things turn to Mom.

“Did you ever receive counselling when she died?”

“Kinda. I went - I saw this therapist, ‘cause I wasn’t talking, but it never really helped and then we moved, so…”

“You weren’t talking by the age of four?”

“No -” Dean blushes, not wanting Cassie to think of him as a complete dumbass. “I was, but I stopped after Mom…”

Cassie makes a small noise. “You were selectively mute?”

“Yeah, I think that’s what they called it…” He remembers the silent days, when words wouldn’t come to him. THey had made his life a lot easier, when he wasn’t speaking and no one expected answers from him. Sammy wasn’t talking either, too young, but they could understand each other. “I guess it’s kind of fucked up, huh.”

“That’s not what I would say.”

Cassie’s kind of great, actually. He likes her and that means Dean wants to please her, wants to share his life and explain how he’s ended up in this state. Which definitely surprises him, because this was never the sort of thing he thought he’d enjoy. She doesn’t say very much a lot of the time, which allows Dean to talk to himself but without the judgement he gives himself, that Cassie says is probably a bit unfair. Three weeks in, two sessions a week, Dean’s relaxed into it. Like, he’s not great at the whole therapy thing. Dean swears a bit too much and if Cassie gets a bit painful, a bit too close, he’s downright rude.

And he doesn’t apologize. Hell, he’s paying for it.

Cas wouldn’t think too highly of that. Neither would Sam, in fact, and Bobby would clout him over the head and Dad… Dad wouldn’t care, and if he did care, it would to be ashamed on Mary’s behalf.

“Sorry I’m a dick,” he says to her at the start of the next session.

“I’m tough,” replies Cassie.

~

“Car’s looking good,” says Bobby, strolling out to join Dean.

“Yeah, guess she is.” Dean steps back, from where he’s been under her hood. “It’s gonna take a while to get her great.”

“I believe in you.”

Dean nods and runs his hand over his mouth, smearing oil over it. He gently drops her hood, giving her a quick rub.

“Sam likes the girl, huh?”

Sam’s been talking to her for hours on the phone pretty much every day. It’s kind of cute, really. No, it’s totally cute. He’s giddily in love with Jessica, they’re officially dating since they saw each other a few days ago. They get to do all the cute crap that comes with a relationship, like kissing and laughing, and the companionship. Just the knowledge there’s someone who wants to be there, at the other end.

Like when Cas used to text him dumb jokes, used to grab his hand because he could. The warmth in his eyes, the arguments about what to watch, the gentle teasing. Just, Cas, and his soft lips and his loving smile.

Cas.

Just Cas.

Cas, who goes to every one of his brother’s NA meetings and has done for years - when his schedule allows. Cas, who fought for his country, who killed for his country, but who never wanted to hurt another soul. Who held Dean when he needed it, knows what he likes, who loves him, to the best of Dean’s knowledge.

“How do I fix this?: he asks Sam later that evening.

“Surgery, probably,” is Sam’s unhelpful reply.

Dean blinks. “What?”

“You aren’t talking about your legs?” Sam looks up, sliding his chair back from the kitchen table.  

Dean flips him off.

“Fine.” Sam closes his book, a bookmark to mark his place. “What are we talking about?”

Dean runs a hand over his mouth. “Cas.”

“Oh.”

“I was pretty happy with him,” shrugs Dean, offhand.

“Yeah, I know,” says Sam quietly. “What did he say, when…”

“I don’t know, man. Something about, wanting to look after myself…” Dean bites his lip. He doesn’t like to think of the breakup, remembering that he was kind of a douchebag with it, and perhaps if he’d kept his temper maybe they’d still be together… but probably, he wouldn’t have gotten the help.

“Dean, all you can do is talk to him. There’s no big, romantic gesture you can pull to win him back. If he still loves you, if you know what you did wrong and if you’re willing to change…” Sam gestures with his hands, as if to say that’s all there is to it.

“What if it was a good thing we’re over?”

Sam considers this. “Do you think it was?”

“Maybe. But I don’t wanna be all Ross and Rachel.”

“How did you break up, anyway?”

Dean recounts the story as best as he can. Sam’s scowling at the end, and he’s gonna bitch, Dean can see it coming.

“You mean you’re whining because Cas broke up with you and you were the one to break up with him?”

Dean splutters indignantly. “Dude, he - obviously he wanted -”

“But he never said he didn’t want to date you, that it was all too much for him?” demands Sam.

They’re now wearing matching scowls. “I guess not,” Dean mutters.

“Just don’t be a fucking moron, please,” Sam rolls his eyes.

Dean flips him off again, but it’s a fair point. And then something occurs to him. “Yo, Sam, when’s your next meeting?”

“Friday,” Sam replies, and he opens his book and starts reading again.

“Can I come?”

“Sure.”

~

Apparently, if Dean wants to get better, he needs to make the choice to get better. Which is fine, because at first, it’s dumb as fuck and it makes no sense, what he does. It’s not something he wants to do, and from that perspective, Dean wants to eat normal meals and not throw them up.

However, the real struggle is the times when his opinion differs.

It’s just… he’s not a thin guy. However he looks in the mirror, it’s big, it’s obtrusive, unattractive and lazy. And he needs to fight it. And it’s after they discuss Dad in therapy, with Cassie needling at Dean, desperately trying to get him to open up.

But it’s Dad. It’s difficult, and by the end Dean’s point blank refusing to talk. it’s easier to talk about food than it is to talk about Dad, which Dean admits with some shame.

“I’m a dude,” he stumbles out. “It’s pathetic, how much I care - I’m - why the fuck do I care so much about it? I don’t know how to not…”

“Food’s very important to a lot of people, Dean. It’s rare for a person to see food only as sustenance.”

Dean’s not convinced. “But I’m a guy,” he repeats.

“It doesn’t make a difference,” says Cassie. “Why does your gender dictate what you like and dislike, what illnesses you get?”

Why it does makes sense to Dean but he doesn’t want to tell Cassie, because it’s sexist. And probably homophobic or something sexuality related-phobic, and transphobic too.

Dean skips the NA meeting he’d asked to go to with Sam, and instead he chain smokes down the creek. Can’t face Cas, can’t face all the people he’s not seen in ages, can’t face goddamn fucking perfect Sam getting over his addiction with fucking grace and masculinity and getting a girlfriend and a fucking awesome college while he stews here at Bobby’s. Fucking Adam, Dad’s other kid, the similarly perfect one, whose mom keeps in contact with Bobby to update each other on their lives.

Fucking Bobby, and his garage and happy life with Ellen. Jo’s gonna be another surrogate kid, and that leaves Dean third best, and no he’s not fucking upset about who his daddy likes best, because he’s not that fucking pathetic.

Oh, right, he is.

~

There’s new life in the household whenever Ellen comes around. Ellen’s probably the only woman who comes into the house since Bobby’s wife Karen died, and there’s definitely a change in the atmosphere. Bobby yells at Sam and Dean to hoover with the crappy old hoover that’s been in the house longer than the Winchesters have been, there’s fucking dusting to be done, all for Ellen.

He voices this to Sam, but Sam shakes his head. “It’s cute. Just go with it.”

“You go with it,” Dean grumbles.

Dean had actually offered to cook, given he’s the only of any of them with culinary talent, but Bobby had declined him, which sucks because he’d much rather cook than clean. And it’s a pain in the ass that Jo’s coming as well, because the only times they can leave just Benny in the Roadhouse are Mondays, and Dean’s tired after work and more tired as he faces the prospect of the week of work, and yet he’s made to clean and tidy up.

“Enough with these chores, Bobby,” he groans, after Bobby points to the washing up.

Bobby doesn’t even fucking dignify him with a response. He’s out in the yard, swearing and cussing over the old barbeque he’s trying to get working. Dean eyes it uneasily.

“That thing is gonna explode or something,” he says in an undertone to Sam.

“I’m not touching it,” Sam replies, pulling a face. “Don’t think that’s been used in like, ten years?”

They shudder together. “There’s loads of pasta in the cupboards if we need it.”

“I think we will.”

Surprisingly, it doesn’t explode in Bobby’s face, and by the time it’s hot enough to actually cook something, Ellen and Jo have arrived bearing fruit, salad, bread and meat.

Bobby and Ellen kiss on the mouth as a greeting. They all respond childishly, with Jo’s gagging, Sam’s heavy sighs and Dean’s ‘ews’, and each of them gets a thwack over the head in return.

“Sam, Dean,” Ellen beams, pulling them in so tight that their heads knock together.

Jo rolls her eyes. “Jeez, Mom, they’re fully grown adults.”

“Overgrown, in one case,” Dean corrects.

Sam pulls a bitch face at him as they’re released. “Wouldn’t think we’re adults by how Bobby’s been on our asses all afternoon.”

They follow Ellen in through the back door. “Why, Bobby Singer, what’s the occasion?” Ellen asks, staring around at the clean kitchen.

Bobby shrugs, his face innocent as it can get. Only, turns out, there’s actually a surprise coming. Dean and Sam look up in surprise when another car pulls up out front.

Aw, hell. It’s Kate and Adam.

Adam’s holding something that looks remarkably pie-like, and Kate’s got a bottle of wine and a six pack of beer.

“It’s rude to stare,” Jo says, tugging them away from the window.

“Sorry I’m surprising you boys like this,” Bobby says quickly, before Kate and Adam reach the door. “Kate wanted to make things up to you…”

“What’s there to make up?” asks Dean.

Bobby gives him a meaningful look. Dean pulls a face at Sam, who pulls one in return. And then Kate rings the doorbell.

Ellen pulls the door open, greeting Kate warmly. “I’m Ellen, it’s nice to meet you.”

“You too,” says Kate, looking flustered. Kate kisses everyone on the cheek as a greeting, but Dean stands back a bit and thrusts out his hand instead.

Kate smiles anyway. “It’s nice to see you too, Dean.”

He smiles halfheartedly. Dean feels a bit sorry for Adam, strictly informed by his mother to shake everyone’s hand. Looks like he’s not finding this dinner as fun as he could.

It’s not too bad, after a couple of drinks, but Dean doesn’t like eating with new people and Kate and Adam make him feel especially uncomfortable. Still, a barbeque’s a barbeque, relaxed and informal, and Kate and Ellen get on well.

Adam pipes up a few times when the conversation turns to politics. He listens raptly to Sam’s explanation of what’s wrong with the system and apparently comes up with a few good questions, making up for Dean and Jo’s silence as they pull gross faces at each other.

“So, Sam, what are you hoping to major in?” asks Kate.

Sam swallows his mouthful. “I’m not entirely sure. Maybe like, history or pre-law or something?”

“You’re interested in law? I think that would suit you,” nods Kate. “You’re good at hard work?”

Dean cuts across Sam before he can answer. “Sammy’s a fucking brainiac.”

“Language,” Bobby grumbles, poking his fork in Adam’s direction.

“I wanna do pre-med when I start college,” Adam pipes up. “Doctors are way cool.”

“Doctor’s aren’t cool,” Dean scoffs. “Batman’s cool.”

“The Hulk’s way better than Batman,” replies Adam. “The Hulk is a badass scientist who gets to hulk out and fight crime. Way cooler than Batman.”

“Dude, no way! Batman’s completely human and he does all of this awesome stuff, saving lives and making his own superpowers. He doesn’t need fancy chemicals, he’s awesome on his own.”

“Batman’s got all his money from his family. Hulk earns his own money.”

“So does Batman!”

“I like Superman,” says Sam, and both Dean and Adam pull a face at him.

“Superman’s lame,” Adam informs Sam.

Dean chews on a hunk of bread, waving the end of it in Sam’s direction. “Way lame,” he says, accidentally spitting crumbs out over Sam.

“Dean!” yelps Sam. “That’s so gross!”

Dean winks at Adam, and the kid grins back.

~

Cassie thinks part of why Dean has the need to eat a lot and then puke it up is because he’s not all that in tune with his emotions.

“You need to allow yourself to feel, Dean,” she says. “Has it been worse since your father died? What do you think of him now?”

Dad’s proud of him. Dad’s yellow, staring eyes, professing his pride for Dean, like he was a different person. Dad’s proud of what he’s made Dean into. All the yelling, all the drinking, the few times Dad’s temper got the worst of him and there’d been a quick badhand to his kids’ faces.

Dean shrugs. He doesn’t much like thinking of Dad. He voices this to Cassie, who smiles at him. “That could be why you’re here.”

Dean looks down quickly, taking a few deep breaths. She’s probably right. “I don’t know,” he scowls. “I mean - I was mad at him for - I don’t know.”

Cassie waits, as she does.

Dean focuses on the rug as he thinks everything through. “I’m mad at him. But… he had a rough deal.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Wife died, saddled with two young kids, couldn’t keep doing what he loves…”

Cassie waits.

A shudder runs through Dean. “He coulda tried harder, though. Hell, I was doing my best to do his job for him, and I was just a kid. I know he had it in him, he took Adam out to fucking baseball games - he never even showed up to the games I played!”

“You resent Adam for getting your father’s attention?”

Dean grits his teeth. “Adam’s just a kid. I resent Dad for being a dick. He could have tried harder to be a decent father.” Tears sting his eyes and he looks away, embarrassed.

“Not that he didn’t try,” he says reluctantly, once he’s pretty sure he’s not gonna start bawling. “It must have been hard.”

“Hard for you, too.”

“Yeah.”

He sits in Dad’s room again that night, thumbing the blankets. Dad’s journal sits on the table, untouched since he left it there, a thin layer of dust over it. Dean picks it up and flicks through it. A glimpse into Dad’s head, half his feelings and events, a bunch of cuttings about suspicious deaths and murderer profiles. When Dean was younger, he remembered Dad’s theories about how Mom’s death wasn’t accidental, but they never led anywhere. Thinking back now, Dad definitely didn’t handle the death at all well.

It’s a hard read, but Dean ploughs through it with grim determination. And then, with Sam and Bobby fast asleep, Dean eats the entire contents of the suitcase and pukes it all up again. Apparently it’s all the puking that gives him a round face - swollen glands or something.

The next day is a bad day, one Dean spends most of in bed, swearing at Bobby and Sam if they try to interact with him. He wants to be asleep but can’t quite get there. Shutting his eyes and curling up almost works, and he can pretend he’s asleep, which is almost as good.

~

The garage is slow the next day. Reggie and Gordon lounge around talking to each other and if they’re not working then neither is he. Baby’s almost looking like a real car now. He starts to work on her insides. It’s very therapeutic, fixing her up. Feels better than therapy, better than talking about Dad. It clears his mind, fixing the puzzle that it his baby. This is what Dean does, it’s what his whole working life has led towards.

Not long ‘til she’s done, really. It’s weird, a whole ten years she’s spent under some tarp, and all she’s taken to get up and ready is a month’s worth of work. It’ll take a couple of days solid work to get the stuff under her and under the hood working, and then there’s the electrics and windows to sort, and a total repaint and polish, and then that’s his baby.

That’ll take, what, a week?

Dean works long into the evening and by the next evening, he’s out from under her and pulling up the hood. He catches sight of Sam through the window, in the kitchen, looking lonely as he washes the dishes. Dean sighs and puts aside his spanner.

“Yo, Sammy,” he calls out, entering the house.

“Yeah?”

“Get out here when you’re done.”

Sam’s quick out, wiping his damp hands on his jeans. “Yeah?”

Dean waves him over to the car. “What’s that?” he points to to a part of her machinery.

Sam frowns. “The engine,” he replies.

“Easy, right? And what’s that?”

"Where the oil is."

"Awesome." Dean picks out a harder part. "And that?"

"That's where the - uh, the brake fluid?"

Dean nods. "And here?"

Sam gives him a look. "How long's this going on for?"

"Fine, wise guy. What's missing from her?"

Sam blinks a few times. "The - uh…" he chews on his lip. He's stumped.

"Sammy, you know this…"

"Spark plug? No, that's there," he points to it. His face brightens suddenly. "Carburettor?"

"Bingo."

"Also, the uh - the belts? - they're looking pretty slack, they need to be tightened or something, right?"

Dean grins. "Right again." he hands him a spanner. "You know what you're doing?"

"Nope."

"Learn," Dean tells him.

Sammy's not bad, fixing her up. He shouldn't be, it's in his blood, but he tends to avoid cars, hasn't the same love Dad and Dean have.

"First, I'm gonna fix up everything I can see that's wrong with her, and probably there'll be a few less vital bits that don't work great from sitting in the yard all these years. But I can find out those once I get her up and running."

"How long until that?"

"Not long," replies Dean. "Can't believe I left her so long."

"She's looking good, Dean," Sam tells him.

"Yeah, she is," Dean replies proudly.

The week passes quickly with Sam helping him out from time to time, and by the weekend, he's ready to unveil her to Bobby and Ellen. They clap after he pulls the tarp off, and Bobby runs his finger down her shiny hood.

"Damn, kid, you've done a real good job there," says Bobby, shaking his head in awe.

"It looks great, Dean," says Ellen.

Dean grins. "Doesn't she?"

He takes her for a test drive around the yard, which passes, and takes her on a longer spin, putting in the AD/DC cassette tape and turning it up high. The sun's low, shining in through the window, and Baby purrs like a happy cat in the sun. She's awesome, really fucking awesome.

If nothing else, Dad would be proud of this. Mom too. It's the car he and Sammy were taken home from the hospital in, and she's deserved to be driven all these years.

And then, like Dean’s always wanted, he’s able to drive Sammy to his next NA meeting in the Impala. Sam isn’t 100 per cent comfortable but Dean had offered to use a car that Sam hadn’t crashed in, and Sam declined. But the little bastard reaches out to fiddle with the car’s stereo.

“Dude, cassette tapes? You couldn’t have given it a CD player or something?"

"Shut your mouth, heathen!"

Sam reaches down to pull out the pile of cassette tapes Dean's been hoarding for years. "At least update them. Dude, Motorhead? AC/DC? Kansas? It’s the greatest hits of mullet rock."

He goes to change the music from Nazareth but Dean slaps his hand away. "Hey, driver picks the music. Shotgun shuts his cake hole."

Sam shuts his cake hole and grins at Dean.

Thanks to Sam's bitching about getting there early, they're actually there early. Sam usually is 'cause he comes from other places to the meetings or heads there alone, but this is probably the first time Dean's ever come and been early. It's a new experience for him, with everyone mulling around and drinking coffee.

There's a slight tremor in Dean's hand. "I'm going for a smoke," he tells Sam.

He can breathe easier with the cigarette in his hand, the nicotine hitting his system and relaxing him by the halfway point of the cigarette. Cas isn't there yet, and neither is Gabriel. If Gabriel arrives alone, Dean can relax. The meeting will be relatively tension free, Dean'll talk to Sam and stew in how proud he is of his little bro. If Gabriel arrives with Cas in tow… Dean gets to see Cas. With his oh so blue eyes, with his perfect lips, with his dumbass trench coat and the tie he can't tie. Dean smiles at the thought. It's simply a waiting game.

Done with the cigarette, Dean heads back inside to where Sam talks with his recovery friends. It’s been about a year since Sam first asked Dean to come, give or take a few months. Sam’s gained weight since then, looking less half starved and more healthy. His hair is still in his eyes but it’s longer at the back, reaching the collar of his shirt, and he smiles a lot more. More animated.

A whole year, and Dad’s died. He’s got a new little brother, and damnit, Dean feels responsible for the kid. It’s not the kid’s fault, and probably isn’t Kate’s, and hell, it’s not even Dad’s fault. No one really expected Dad to remain celibate after Mom. By the sounds of things, Kate and Adam made Dad happy, the times he saw them. Let it go, he tells himself strictly.

He’s come out, in that year. Had a boyfriend, broke up with a boyfriend, had a mental breakdown - what else? He’s gained weight, and he’s made the starting steps to improving his mental state. The very early starting steps, like medication and a therapist. Apparently it’s a long road out of disordered eating, one Dean’s wary to start. He’s torn out of his musings by the clatter of chairs signalling the start of the meeting. There’s a few empty chairs with the over estimations of the people there. Sam sits down with a friend on his left and an empty seat on his right, which Dean takes.

Victor starts the meeting, as usual, and a couple of stragglers join in and take the free chairs. Gabriel is one of them, striding in with an easy smile. No one follows him, and Dean relaxes in his chair, ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach. The door opens another time as Garth stands and talks about his week, his hardships. The poor kid relapsed, he’s shaking and near tears. Dean’s heart goes out to him, and the spare seat next to him is taken.

Garth sits down shakily, chewing his lip. Dean spares a glance to the person in the seat beside him.

It’s Cas. Of course it’s Cas. More bedraggled than usual, with his hair in complete disarray, like how it looked when he and Dean were heavily making out and rutting on the couch. Dean bites his lip and looks away. Cas’s eyes are focused on Garth but his mouth is relaxed. He sits stiffly, but that’s just Cas. Someone else comes in through the door and there’s no chair free this time, so they all scoot up closer to make room, and that’s about when Dean stops listening to anyone who talks.

Because of how they’ve had to move up closer, Dean’s knee is touching Cas’s. So lightly, maybe Cas hasn’t noticed, because he’s not moving his leg away and Dean’s in no hurry to. The nerve endings in that square centimeter they touch are going haywire, reaching out for the skin between the layer of denim and polyester cotton blend. Dean’s dick twitches.

In Dean’s dick’s defense, Cas was the last time he got laid, and that was like two months ago. That’s a long time for a dick as active as Dean’s.

Cas shifts and the square centimeter grows. It’s a couple of square centimeters now. Dean can’t help himself, he looks at Cas, and the corners of his lips are twitching, and the crinkles in his eyes are deeper. Dean’s own smile grows, and he presses back slightly. It’s like a square inch now, and then some.

And then some more.

Victor rounds off the meeting, and they clap and there’s more support for Garth. But Dean doesn’t notice that, because Cas is looking at him.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says in his gravelly voice.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean replies. Cas so close, yet he’s not allowed to pull that face in and kiss it senseless. It’s cruel.

Sam clears his throat loudly, causing Dean to look away and blush. “Yeah?”

“I’m going outside for a cigarette, okay?”

“Sure,” Dean says, disinterested. He’s rather more concerned with the close proximity of Cas.

But it seems Sam’s interruption has reminded Cas of why they’ve not been talking. His smile gone, he pulls his leg away from Dean’s and leaves abruptly. He heads over towards Garth.

Dean watches him leave. The smile on his face drops and he goes away to follow Sam outside.

Sam watches him smoke two cigarettes in quick succession. “Dude, you’ve gotta apologize or something.”

“Why do I have to apologize?”

“Seriously?” Sam huffs. “Who broke up with who?”

Dean scowls. “He wanted it over. I know he did.”

“Oh my god, Dean!” Sam throws up his arms dramatically. His cigarette falls out of his mouth. “Shit. Dean just - don’t be such an ass. Go over and talk to him. Ask him for coffee or something.”

“He’s drinking coffee right now,” replies Dean.

Sam huffs again. “God, you’re so annoying,” he says, turning on his heel and walking back inside.

Dean smokes another cigarette but doesn’t get more than halfway through before he’s hacking up a lung. He should really cut back, imagine the money he’d save, but they’re all the more vital now he’s started the fucking therapy.

He has another just to steel himself, which is definitely a mistake ‘cause now he’s feeling a bit dizzy and vaguely nauseated. Cas is talking with Garth, and as Dean watches, he reaches out to pat Garth’s shoulder. Dean can’t make out what they’re saying but it looks as though Cas is helping. Dean smiles; that’s all Cas ever wanted to do.

When Garth is drawn into conversation with someone else, leaving Cas alone for a minute, it’s Dean’s chance to go over. But maybe he needs a cup of coffee to face his ex, and by the time he’s got himself a nice warming cup, Cas is engaged in conversation with another person. Shame.

And then Cas is alone. Dean turns away, because if he can’t see Cas, for all he knows Cas is far too busy to talk to Dean.

Oh, son of a bitch, Cas has come over to make another cup of coffee. Dean turns around to get away from him but there’s someone blocking his path, and he steps backwards quickly. Bad move - Cas swears behind him and Dean looks and - yes, Cas has hot coffee all over him.

“Crap,” says Dean, fumbling for some napkins. He starts wiping at Cas’s coffee soaked stomach and then realizes what he’s doing, and flushes again. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” says Cas, pulling his shirt away from his body. “This shirt has a tear in the arm, anyway.”

“Cas - I think we need to talk,” Dean says quickly.

“I’d like that,” Cas replies. “Perhaps the bar.”

Dean nods. “Sounds great. You - uh, you wanna go now?”

Cas frowns. “Gabriel and I came together, in the one car. Much as I would find it enjoyable…”

“Right - sure. And I guess you’d want to change…”

Cas looks down at his clothes, like he’s forgotten about them. “Oh, yes,” he pulls at his shirt again.

“I’ve got my car, though. Maybe Gabriel could take your car and drop Sam back or something.”

Cas tightens his lips. “There are hand driers in the men’s room,” he says.

Dean’s heart leaps in his chest. “I’ll buy the drinks.”

Cas nods slowly, his lips still pressed together. “Outside in fifteen minutes,” he says, walking off to the men’s room before Dean can reply.

Awesome. Okay. Dean’s mouth is dry.

Sam approaches him. “Well?”

“We’re going for a drink in fifteen minutes.”

Sam beams. “Well done. You taking the Impala?”

“Yeah,” Dean nods. “Think you can bum a lift off Gabriel?”

“Sure. Hope it goes well.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Jessica is rooting for you guys to make up,” adds Sam.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Of course she is.”

Almost exactly fifteen minutes later, Dean’s lounging against the Impala. She’s sleek and so gorgeous, especially compared to all of the other crapheaps in the parking lot. Dean’s got Dad’s old leather jacket on and he’s like 90% sure he looks incredibly cool, with his boots and spiked up hair. And then Cas comes out, looking more dry and more comfortable. The stain on Cas’s white shirt doesn’t much help is disheveled appearance, but Dean’s grinning at him regardless.

He opens the passenger door for Cas to slide in, anxiously waiting to hear Cas’s thoughts on the car.

“Is this the car your father crashed?” Cas asks, when Dean’s settled in the driver’s seat.

“Yup. What do you think?”

“I can’t imagine it has good mileage and is probably a very expensive car to fix. And the age of it means it’s unlikely to have high horsepower,” says Cas.

“Yeah, okay, but she’s a sweet ride, right?”

Cas fidgets and looks around the car. “My brother’s car is more comfortable. And safer.”

“But look at her,” says Dean, getting frustrated.

Cas turns to him, squinting slightly, like he doesn’t get what Dean means.

Dean sighs. “Dude, just take it from me, she’s gorgeous.”

“Okay. I’m uncertain about your choice of music, also.”

“Go fuck yourself, Cas,” says Dean, turning up the music.

Cas frowns at him. “I’ve had to, these past weeks.”

A couple of beers in, Dean decides shots are a great idea. It’s more of a catching up session so far, leaving Cas and Dean both in good spirits, and there’s an offer on the shots and Cas’s eyes get really bright when he drinks too much. Dean points it out, after their third shot.

“I’m aware. Your cheeks get very red when you drink too much.”

“I’m aware,” Dean mimics him, sitting stiffly in his seat and pulling a straight face.

Cas pulls a crooked smile. “We’re supposed to be discussing our relationship, Dean.”

“But this is more fun.”

Cas tilts his head to the side. “I know something more fun,” he says, his voice deep and rich. Fingers dancing over Dean’s hand, they lean in and fuck, Dean’s missed Cas’s lips. The touch, all touch, it’s like he’s been starving until Cas’s spare hand comes up to trace Dean’s adam’s apple, Cas’s teeth over Dean’s bottom lip, he’s needed this for so long.

“Come back to mine,” Cas whispers into Dean’s mouth.

“Are you sure?”

“Certain.”

They get the bar to call them a cab, and standing up makes Dean realize how drunk he actually is and perhaps this is a bad idea but Cas is hanging onto his hand, and Dean’s pretty sure Cas is more sober than he is, so that’s okay. Somehow, Cas has a better stomach for alcohol than Dean does, even though Dean’s bigger than him in every sense and drinks far more than Cas.

Cas probably ate three solid meals today. though. Dean’s only had some fruit and a piece of bread, and fuck he’s hungry now. He fights his hunger by using his lips for something better than food; kissing Cas.

This is how he’d hoped the pills would make him feel. The dopey feeling from the alcohol, the ecstatic feeling from Cas’s lips and hands. The driver of the cab coughs pointedly. They pull apart a little bit for about two minutes, but then Dean starts stroking Cas’s palm and Cas growls low and presses his lips back on Dean’s. The cab ride is over quickly. Cas pays and they stumble out, Cas leading the way but Dean plastering himself to Cas’s back, hands over his hands and chin over Cas’s shoulder, kissing every now and then to make Cas giggle.

They end up curled up on Cas’s couch, Dean holding Cas against his chest. He’s got great smelling hair. Dean kisses down his stubbly cheek, holding his lips under Cas’ ear.

One of his hands goes around Cas’ waist, pressing against his growing erection. Cas turns his head to meet the kiss, hands coming up to surround Dean’s neck and deepen the kiss. Cas’ ass feels great against Dean’s dick and he rubs against it appreciatively, slipping his hand under Cas’ slacks to hold his dick through his shorts. It’s hard and warm and Dean clasps his fingers around it and pulls hard.

Cas flips him over, pulls Dean’s hands up above his head and holds them against the couch with one of his hands, and looks down on him without saying anything.

Dean nods quickly, because shit fuck, this restraining thing? Totally a fucking turn on. Cas drops down for a hard kiss, grinding his hips down on Dean and that feels fucking good and Dean moans into Cas’ mouth. He hooks his leg around Cas, holding him down next to Dean so they grind, frotting against each other.

“No idea how you look, do you,” Cas whispers feverishly. He bites down on Dean’s shoulder and sucks, making a hickey, marking Dean. Dean whines. “No idea how hot you look, with your hair all mussed and your lips all pink and edible.” Cas takes Dean’s lip into his mouth, rubbing his tongue all over Dean’s sensitive skin, nibbling on it and refusing to let go.

Dean pulls Cas’ hips into his and bucks his hips as best he can. With his free hand, Cas pulls down Dean’s pants – and why is it always Dean who ends up half naked on the couch? The thought is abruptly thrown out of his head when Cas grasps his cock and pulls it quickly, rubs his hips against it and Dean’s got the friction of the slacks straight onto his cock. Dean jerks his hips up harder and harder, against Cas’s dick as best as he can, and he’s about to come as embarrassingly fast as ever but Cas makes a stilted moan and shudders against Dean, and there’s a growing wet spot on his slacks and Cas has just come in his pants.

Dean groans out his own orgasm and they sink next to each other, breathing hard.

“Always the fucking couch,” Dean laughs, breathlessly.

Cas runs his hands through Dean’s hair and kisses his forehead. “I’ve missed you,” he murmurs.

Dean swallows a lump in his throat, finding himself sobering up quickly. “You too,” he mutters.

“What are we doing?” Cas asks Dean’s temple.

“Hopefully sleeping,” replies Dean.

“I’m serious, Dean.”

Dean sighs. “Can’t we just be friends and fuck sometimes? Fuck buddies, or something.”

Cas frowns. At least, Dean imagines he frowns, as he can’t quite see Cas’s face.

“Or intercourse acquaintances, that’s more your language, right?”

“Intercourse acquaintances?” repeats Cas, sounding amused. He pushes himself up, sitting on top of Dean’s legs and looking down at him, his face all serious and squinty again. “I don’t want that.”

Dean lets his head fall back. “What do you want?”

“To talk.”

“Right now, when we’re drunk and sleepy?”

“Please.”

Dean struggles to pull his pants up, examining Cas’s face. The bags under his eyes are larger than they used to be, and his face looks drained and the wrinkles are deeper. “You sure? You look tired.”

Cas yawns. Perfect timing.

In fact, now Dean looks around, his whole apartment is in disarray. Cas isn’t a particularly neat person but his place is usually pretty tidy, not with dozens of used coffee or the blanket and cushions on the couch they’re on, making it look like Cas has been sleeping there. Only half of his lights are working,

“Dude, maybe you should go to bed. I’ll be here in the morning, if you want me to be. And we can talk then.”

Cas sighs, his shoulders slumping. All fight leaves him and he lets Dean pull him up and lead him to the bedroom. The transfer from sitting to standing makes Dean’s head spin with the alcohol but he can let himself be drunk in ten minutes. Cas is more important.

Cas lets him pull off his slacks and damp boxers, pulling on the clean pair Dean thrusts in his direction. The stained shirt comes off, and part of Dean wants to pull off the kind of stained undershirt but that’s probably a bad idea, too.  Dean helps him into bed, pulling the blankets up tight.

“I forget you’re a sleepy drunk,” Dean comments, watching Cas blink slowly.

Cas mumbles a reply, but Dean can’t make out what he says. “Go to sleep, you drunk.”

“You’re drunker than me,” Cas murmurs with his eyes shut.

There’s a chair to the side of Cas’s bed. He falls asleep watching Cas. It occurs to him how creepy that is as he falls to sleep, but it doesn’t really bother him.

Dean’s head is thumping the next morning. When he wakes up, his neck sore and back stiff, Cas is still asleep, like nothing would wake him. Dean smiles fondly at him. He’s sticky and he’s gotta piss more than anything. Cas has one of those fancy coffee machines so he makes himself a quick cup of coffee first to brighten his brain and get the ball rolling for his post too much alcohol dump. Cas is still sleeping by the end of the coffee, so Dean does what he has to do in the bathroom. Cas probably won’t mind if he takes a shower, and as he does that he rubs his teeth to clean them and uses some mouthwash, freshening himself up.

There’s plenty in Cas’s fridge to make breakfast, so Dean busies himself cooking.

“I hope this isn’t a distraction technique,” says Cas, standing in the doorway in his undershirt and boxers.

Dean whirls around, holding up a spatula. “Just a nice gesture.”

Cas sighs. “We are going to talk, Dean?”

“Sure, Cas.”

Dean drags out breakfast for as long as he can to delay the conversation. He even washes the dishes by hand, roping Cas into drying up.

“I have a perfectly good dishwasher,” Cas grumbles.

“Yup, it’s me.”

Cas flicks him with the dishcloth. All too soon, they’re sitting opposite each other at the table, facing each other. Dean feels remarkably like he’s at an interview, with the way Cas clasps his hands together.

“Are you hungover?” is Cas’s first question.

“A little.”

Cas nods. Dean shakes his head and licks his lip. “So I guess we should talk, huh?”

“Yes.”

Despite this, neither of them talk. Dean makes a few attempts to open his mouth, to start the conversation, and Cas purses his lips again and slowly tilts his head to the side. Very slowly, his eyes heavy on Dean.

“Quit it,” Dean snaps, when Cas starts squinting.

“Quit what?”

“The - staring, thing. Dude, it’s creepy. Did you have to do that so slowly?”

Cas tilts his head even further.

“Jesus, you’re like a fucking owl.”

Cas scowls at him and averts his eyes to the window.

“Really? That’s what offends you, of everything?”

Cas ignores him, taking his hands off the table and onto his lap. Dean rolls his eyes. “Right - fine, I’m sorry. Can we just talk properly, please?”

“I guess so,” Cas says sullenly.

“Jesus, you’re grumpy in the mornings.”

Cas fixes him with a piercing glare. Dean throws up his hands in surrender and they fall back into silence.

Dean breaks it again, the silence getting to him. “Look - man, I don’t know how to do this,” he says awkwardly.

“Me neither,” says Cas, slumping his shoulders.

“I really care about you… Cas, I need you. And it really fucking scares me to say that…” Dean rubs a hand over his face. “I need you because I’m like 90 per cent sure we need each other, okay?”

“You need me,” Cas repeats glumly.

“And I want you,” Dean adds, hesitant. He’s on thin ice here, it’s careful treading. “I shouldn’t have broken up with you. I thought it was what you wanted…”

“You thought that was what I wanted? Maybe you don’t know me as well as I thought.” He looks weary again. “Maybe it was good we broke up.”

“Do you really think that?”

Cas frowns. “Not really.”

Good. Dean’s chest loosens. “So, what, then. You need me to let you in more or something?”

“I don’t know what I need,” Cas says slowly. “We’re very different people… It has always been a shock to me, how much I learn from you. And… my affections for you. I had to take a week off work after you ended our relationship,” he admits. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to go through that again.”

Dean blinks a few times. “You… what? I didn’t think… You’re always able to get on with things, man, I never…”

“You thought I never cared for you? You thought I didn’t get hurt?”

Dean licks his lips. “I don’t know…”

“Was I never expressive enough for you, Dean? Did I not show you my appreciations, try to care for you as best as I could?” Cas hasn’t raised his voice, but somehow it would be better if he had.

Dean shrinks back under his anger. “I don’t…”

“Don’t what? Don’t feel the same?” asks Cas curtly. “Leave, then.”

“No!” This is Dean’s last fucking chance and he won’t let it go to waste. “Cas - this is hard for me!”

“Hard for me too,” Cas mutters. Dean wants to slap the ugly, unnatural expression on his face. Cas’s eyes shouldn’t be cold, not when they’re on him.

“Cas…” A single tear trickles down Dean’s face. Cas’s face softens a touch on seeing Dean’s wet eyes. Dean doesn’t want it to, he wants to be mad at Cas the same as Cas is mad at him, but this - their last meeting probably - isn’t going well, and another tear slips from his eye. Damnit.

He looks down for a minute, and when he looks up, he’s surprised to see Cas’s eyes similarly damp. “Dean, please. I can’t do this.”

Dean swallows heavily. “Sure you can. It’s easy, man. I won’t be such a dick. Hey, I’m starting that already, I’m on medication and I’ve got a therapist now,” he smiles weakly.

Cas nods, wiping his eyes quickly on his sleeve. “That’s good. I’m pleased for you.”

Dean catches his hand before it drops back under the table. He strokes it with his thumb. “You cry like this about most people?” he half jokes.

Cas shakes his head, his lips twitching at the corners.

“And,” Dean continues, growing serious. “Cas, I’m really fucking sorry. And I’m not sorry for being who I am, but I am sorry for breaking up with you and getting pissed off with you and I’m sorry I’ve made things so difficult for you.”

Cas nods. “And I’m sorry I intruded. It was your decision to get help, I realize my efforts were imposing and invasive. I just wanted to help you, Dean.”

Dean smiles. “You really fucking helped me. Don’t forget that.”

Cas nods again, and then he smiles. “I won’t.”

Dean pauses to breathe in deeply, because this is all sounding very final. He scrubs his hand over his face again, his heart beating in his ears. “Do you think we could give it another go?”

Cas closes his eyes for a moment. “This all seems very dramatic,” he says softly.

“Dude, I started crying in your arms over carbonara sauce,” Dean reminds him, quirking an eyebrow.

Cas smiles and opens his eyes, squeezing Dean’s hand. “I think I would like us to try again. Perhaps with less drama,” he adds.

“Do my best,” replies Dean. He doesn’t want to start grinning, in case Cas is joking or something.

But Cas reaches across the table to press their lips together, until Dean can’t kiss anymore because his grin is too big. But Cas works around it.

~

Dean strides around practically humming for the next week, telling everyone that he’s high on Cas. Sam calls him an idiot and then heads off back to Berkeley, because it’s that time of the year again, but he makes Dean promise to visit him this time. And then, to fight the missing Sam blues, Dean drives over to Cas’s. They’re meant to be having dinner - salmon and greens, as lower calorie foods sometimes make Dean feel more comfortable, but somehow they get distracted in Cas’s bedroom.

Cas is quick to work Dean’s clothes off, ignoring his own - which is always the fucking case and it’s totally unfair on Dean’s part because Cas’s body is fucking amazing, but he forgets all about that when Cas swallows his cock down as deep as it can go. A couple of minutes of head bobbing, Cas’s pink lips and blue eyes, Dean’s completely forgotten about Sam and getting ready to come down Cas’s throat, when Cas’s hand that has been otherwise involved in playing with Dean’s balls starts to move further down, nudges around -

No.

No, no. Dean lets go of Cas’s hair and pushes him off and pulls back, sitting up by the near side of the bed and picks his pants up off the floor, struggling to pull them back up. Cas sits on his haunches, confused and apologetic.

“Shit, sorry,” says Dean breathlessly. His erection is starting to wane and is on its way out, but Cas’s is still standing to attention.

“Don’t be,” Cas says immediately.

“Shall I-?” Dean gestures towards Cas’s dick.

Cas flushes. “No - erm,” he shifts, adjusting himself so it’s not so obvious through his slacks. “Would you - should we talk?”

“It’s just - it’s so fucking gay.”

Cas blinks.

Dean’s bright red, because he’s aware he’s dating a dude, he’s sucked off a dude, he’s given a handjob to a dude and he’s spent hours kissing and cuddling and making out with a dude, and he really likes it. But going there, it’s too much.

And why the fuck is he bottom anyway?

“Is it - did someone hurt you?” Cas asks, after a minute.

“No,” Dean replies quickly. Well, kind of. Alastair wasn’t exactly gentle. And Dean’s tried touching his own ass, but it’s different when it’s him. And it’s so fucking painful, and didn’t do anything for him last time, and it’s gross. He shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe,” he offers reluctantly, hoping Cas won’t ask for more.

Cas frowns but he doesn’t question it. “Are you completely against the idea? if it were me?” Cas has this incredible ability to make eye contact through even the most embarrassing of discussions. They’re discussing Cas’s asshole, and he doesn’t look the slightest bit embarrassed.

Cas continues with doggish persistence. “I’ve stayed away from this subject, the area,” and Dean’s face is so red right now, “because you’ve never made a motion towards it.”

“I guess we could try it out a bit more,” Dean says uncomfortably.

“If you want to. We can discuss this later, I’m going to..” he gestures towards his crotch and gets off of the bed.

“Wait,” Dean calls out.

Cas hesitates by the door.

“Just… just wait a second, okay?” Dean tries to gather his thoughts. “It’s complicated,” he says finally, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “I was uh - I was bullied a lot, at school. I was this.. this freckly, stupid, stuttery fat kid with a twitchy brother and alcoholic dad, and Mom was -” he breaks off, trying to control his breathing.

Cas slowly approaches him, perching on the edge of the bed.

“And this boy, this guy, he took an interest of me.” Dean takes a deep breath. It’s not something he talks about. “His name was Alastair and he wa a few years older than me.” He bites his lip and looks away. But he can do this… he thinks he can do this. Slowly, using the briefest terms possible, he explains Alastair. It doesn’t take Dean long, because Alastair wasn’t for long, but it’s one of the hardest things he’s ever done, and is left shaking by the end of it.

Shaking, and kind of furious. Dean bites his lip hard enough to bring up blood; he wants to claw at his face and beat the fuck out of someone. Cas reaches out to cup his warm cheek with his cool hand, leaning in close when Dean doesn’t pull back. They rest, foreheads touching, for a while, until Cas breaks it and holds out his arms as an invitation. Grudgingly, Dean settles himself back against Cas.

“Don’t you have any issues?” Dean asks, listening to Cas’s heartbeat.

“Of course I do,” replies Cas.

Dean waits but Cas doesn’t elaborate. Dean sighs. “You gonna tell me?”

“Oh,” he says, like he didn’t even think that Dean would want to know. Dean rolls his eyes fondly.

Cas thinks hard for a time. “I’ve spent a long time trying to do right by my father. It has only been in recent years that I’ve realized I should be doing right by myself.”

He shifts himself, slipping lower down the bed so his chin touches the top of Dean’s head. “And I’ve worked out I can do that and love and respect him at the same time. I’m good at compartmentalizing, it works with my mind and my emotions. I’ve learnt it after being in combat.” He breaks off suddenly as something else occurs to him. “I flinch when I see trash cans, Dean. I assure you, I have my issues.”

And there’s his nightmares from his time in battle, although they are rare. Often of his fallen comrades. Dean supposes he has them more often than Cas admits.

Cas reaches out to hold one of Dean’s hands. “We all have our shit, Dean. We all have our issues.”

“Yours don’t stop you from having sex,” says Dean.

“You feel things very strongly,” Cas says, squeezing his hand. “I do not. People in the past have commented on it. I was called a robot many times in school. In fact, some of my siblings like to call me my father’s tool.”

Dean's reminded of himself. That's what Sam thinks of him, or used to. 

“I love you,” Dean says.

Cas freezes under him.

Dean waits, and when nothing happens, he turns his head to peek up at Cas. Cas’s eyes are wide and bright, and there’s a small smile on his face and he’s looking at Dean a way that make his heart leap. Cas’s nose brushes down his cheek and his lips meet Dean’s,dry and chafing as they rub over Dean’s. Dean runs his tongue over Cas’s bottom lip and Cas starts to smile, effectively stopping the kiss. They smile against each other’s mouths, noses nudging. Cas pulls away and peppers small kisses over his mouth, over his chin, up his nose and over his forehead.

“Thank you,” Cas murmurs.

It’s not an ‘I love you’ and in fact, it’s something most romcoms mock. But from Cas, it’s perfect. Dean has his boundaries and they were almost crossed today, but Cas respected them, and so Dean’ll respect his.

~

It turns out, Dean likes having a project. Fixing the Impala made him realize it, and now his medication has kicked in he’s actually feeling pretty good about most things. The new project is ass stuff.

It’s hard for Dean not to feel uncomfortable with it. It’s okay in porn, where everything looks like it’s been bleached on an industrial scale - all hairless and pink and in porn world no one poops and and everyone wants an entire fist up their fucking rectum. He’s happy to rub a lubed finger around Cas’ ass, dip inside maybe, but Cas encourages him to lay back and be taken care of.

Lay back and have Cas licking where poop comes out.

It’s okay, as sensations go, but Dean’s just lying back and staring at the ceiling and making little moans he doesn’t feel. He’s not even hard, it’s embarrassing.

Cas sighs from Dean’s other end. “Will you just let yourself enjoy this?” he says, irritated.

“Like that’s helping,” Dean shoots back.

“It’s enjoyable.”

“It’s gross!”

Cas sighs again. “There’s no actual contact. That’s where the dental dam is necessary.”

Yeah, that strip of silicone’s the only barrier between his ass and Cas’ mouth. He doesn’t even wanna kiss Cas until he’s had a couple of showers and brushed his teeth maybe a hundred times.

“It’s not gross!” Cas says finally, frustrated. “If you don’t like rimming, that’s fine, but ass play isn’t gross if we’re sanitary!”

Dean shrugs. Cas exhales heavily and sits up, pulling the silicone off of Dean’s ass and throwing it in the bin.

“My butt feels weird now,” Dean grumbles. Cas looks at him in exasperation.

~

Sam calls as he and Bobby are eating dinner together, both absorbed in thoughts of their significant others. He fills Dean in on the course and on Jessica, and Dean fills him in on the few days since their last phone call, mostly that the pills really are working.

 _“That’s great, Dean,”_ says Sam with enthusiasm.

“Yeah. It’s weird, though. Feel like I’ve been in a fog for years.”

_“How do you like the real world?”_

“Like you can ask me that question.”

Sam barks out a laugh. _“God, that feels like a lifetime ago.”_

“Look at us now.”

_“Fully functional adults, I know.”_

Dean smiles down the phone. “Proud of you, Sammy.”

_“I’m proud of you too, Dean.”_

Dean hangs up and sits back at the table to fill Bobby in.

“You know, Sammy’s applying to get a transfer to Stanford. His girlfriend goes there.”

“He thinks he can?”

“Sounds pretty confident. If anyone could... Though, I could hardly get a word in edgeways to begin, all he wants to talk about is Jessica.”

“Gee, what that must be like?” Bobby says sarcastically, raising his eyebrows at Dean.

“Shut up,” Dean retorts. It’s very different, because Cas is awesome. The mere thought of Cas makes him grin.

“You need a room?” teases Bobby.

“Shut up.”

~

Dean’s not really tried tackling his whole bulimia thing yet, but it is on the agenda. But it’s not like he’s depression free. He spends a fair few nights a week over at Cas’s, and that doesn’t stop him feeling shit. When Dean wakes up, there’s a few minutes of a dozy head in pillow thing, and then he looks at the clock, and has about two hours before work. Cas is sat up in bed already, next to him, and Dean kind of wants to wrap himself around Cas but Cas doesn’t want his annoying, useless ass wrapped around him first thing in the morning. He’s meant to be saving himself, for fuck’s sake.

Dean curls around himself instead, turning away from Cas.

“Hey?” Cas calls, in greeting and in question.

Dean ignores him, pretending he’s fallen asleep again.

“Dean? You sleeping?”

Dean doesn’t even know what he’s upset about, there’s just a voice yelling for him that it’s a bad day today. Cas’s arm drops to Dean’s head, making Dean flinch.

“Sorry,” Cas says quietly, taking back his hand.

“Everything okay?” he asks after a minute or so.

Dean turns his head to the ceiling. “Awesome,” he mutters flatly.

“Clearly.”

Cas reaches out and takes Dean’s hand, squeezes it hard. “Hey?” he repeats.

Dean nods and sits up, trying to breath slowly and steadily to calm himself. Cas looks at him, worried, so Dean slips down in bed and drops his head to Cas’s shoulder, tense, waiting for Cas to push him off.

Cas puts his book down and lays his head on top of Dean’s, one arm tight around his waist. “What’s wrong?”

Him. Dean’s wrong. Like, why the fuck is he bringing down every-fucking-ones good mood, God, he’s so fucking needy.

“I don’t know,” Dean replies.

Cas nods and tights his arm, pulling Dean half onto his lap. His hand moves up to stroke the back of Dean’s head gently, and he picks up his book in the other hand. “Are you going to work today?” Cas asks quietly.

Go to work or sit at home? “I don’t know.”

“I have to go to work; if you stayed, I wouldn’t stay with you.”

Dean turns his face into Cas’s neck. “I don’t know,” he mumbles again.

“Okay,” Cas says with infinite patience. “If you went to work, you have over an hour to get ready.”

Doesn’t help. If he went to work, he’d have to face people. People are gonna talk to him and notice the dumbass he is, he’s gonna be tired and crappy tempered and people would prefer he not be there.

At home alone, it’s just Dean and his thoughts. But it’s also just Dean and the bed, the fridge and the tv.

Cas rummages with his book hand in the bedside table, pulling out a quarter. He offers it to Dean. “Heads?”

Dean shakes his head.

“So, heads you stay?”

Dean shrugs. Cas flips the coin and catches it with the same hand. He’s more or less ambidextrous but it’s still impressive to watch. “Tails.”

Tails, go to work. Dean’s whole body curls in at the idea and he shakes his head. “I’m not going.”

“Okay,” Cas says and kisses the top of Dean’s head. “Okay. But you must inform Bobby. I won’t.”

Cas untangles himself from Dean and passes him the phone to make the call, and while he showers and dresses, Dean only stares at it.

“Dean! Call him.” Cas takes the phone back off Dean and types the number, pressing the call button before handing it back.

“Cas!” Dean protests, but the phone’s ringing. He watches Cas fumble buttoning up his shirt and get muddled tying his tie, explaining to Bobby he’s sick. Bobby doesn’t buy it; Bobby wants the truth.

“I just can’t face it today,” Dean admits eventually.

Bobby sighs. Aw, hell, nice one Dean, letting down Bobby who’s done fucking everything for you. _“Take care of yourself, okay? Sure we’ll get by without your sorry ass for one day.”_

Dean nods. “Thanks, Bobby.”

Dean manages to haul himself out of bed long enough to sort out Cas’s tie - and his hair - and give him a quick kiss on the cheek.

“You don’t want breakfast?” Cas asks to Dean’s back.

“Nah, I’ll make something later.”

It’s relieving to have someone know about his crap. Dean thinks back to half a year ago, he’d have to fake sick to stay off work. Kept him always on edge, feeling even worse ‘cause he had to lie.

He’ll make it up to Cas today, though. Cas will come home and dinner will be on the table, and the apartment will be tidy and smelling fresh, Dean will be washed and shaved and look better for having a day of r&r.

The reality is that Dean lives in purgatory for most of the day, both wanting to get out of bed yet fearing the start of the day, lying there suspended between the two. When Cas comes home, Dean’s lying on the couch in Cas’s sweats, unshowered and unshaven, close to tears. The tears make him selfish, he doesn’t even care that Cas might not want to deal with him, he just rises from the couch and falls into Cas’s arms. Cas makes soothing noises and walks them both back to the couch, muttering how he should have stayed home, how he’s gonna put on a movie and get into his pyjamas and the two of them are gonna have take out and watch crappy movies.

Yeah, some days aren’t all that easy. But he has better days. Dean fills his better days with phone calls to Sam, Bobby teasing and seeing his friends, even visiting Dad’s grave. Most of all, he fills them with Cas.

They’re still experimenting. Spending the evening on Cas’s bed, Dean lubes up his finger and probes Cas’ ass, and by the sounds of things, Cas likes it. But Cas wants Dean to enjoy sex more, so really it’s time to share.

Dean licks his lip. “There was somethin’ I wanted to tell you about,” he says delicately. He’s glad Cas is on top of him, so he doesn’t have to see Cas’ face.

“Go on,” prompts Cas in a sleepy voice.

“There was this girl I slept with once,” says Dean. He’s hesitant, treading new territory. “She – uh, she had these –“ He clears his throat. “Rhonda had these panties. And she – uh,” he licks his lip again, “she wanted me to try them on.”

Cas perks up a bit, twisting his head around to look at Dean. “And? Did you?”

Dean nods, face red.

“Did you like it?”

Dean nods again.

Cas sits up, turning so he’s straddling Dean. “What were they like?” he asks, his pupils blown.

“Kind of – uh, pink, and – um, satiny?”

Cas looks down on him like he can’t wait to eat him up. “Did she tell you how pretty you were?”

Dean cringes and Cas continues smoothly like he doesn’t notice. “Did she tell you how hot it is to see your cock stretch out her delicate panties? This big, strong, handsome man in a pair of her pretty satins?”

Dean swallows. The moisture seems to have vanished from his mouth, and his dick twitches a couple of times.

“I bet she sucked you off through them,” Cas muses, running a hand down Dean’s chest. “Mouthing you through them, getting them all wet and filthy. And I bet you came right through the panties, and she made you keep them on. The pretty panties dripping in come...”

Dean moans, bucking against Cas.

“I’ll find some for you,” says Cas, voice warm and husky as he drops a finger inside himself. “Your dick jerking against the fabric, again and again…”

Cas comes suddenly, without warning, and Jesus shit, it was the idea of Dean in pretty pink panties that did this. Dean rubs a finger through the come on Cas’ stomach and slides that against his ass, up and down and it feels okay. He could bear it, he’s sure, and Cas’ come is at his ass and Dean pulls his own cock and he’s coming, sticky and strong over his hand.

Cas licks it off, the fuck.

There’s lots of adventures in their anal sex journey. Cas tells Dean repeatedly that if it hurts, _they’re not doing it correctly,_ and Dean’s embarrassingly still got troubles keeping it up, and sometimes Cas comes prematurely and they both have a laugh.

And Dean’s less embarrassed by the whole thing. They’ve discussed what the best Led Zeppelin song is with Cas’ finger stroking in Dean’s ass, and spent a lot of time just exploring each other with hands or mouth. Like, Cas is very ticklish. Dean’s whole neck is very sensitive and Cas likes his stomach. It makes Dean very uncomfortable when Cas rests his hands there, but Cas takes to kissing where his stomach juts out and telling him how good he looks, and it’s bearable.

But the best bit is, there’s nothing Dean can’t tell Cas. And Dean’s had that with Sam, he thrives off intense relationships, but there’s something so nice about cuddling up close to Cas and talking with a haze of sleep softening his mind, and Dean wakes up the next morning and isn’t embarrassed by what he’s said.

And Dean’s fucked Cas, and it was good. It was a rough, heat-of-the-moment fuck in the back of the working Impala (got to be christened somehow) and it was hot and messy. Not mind-blowing, and it was probably better for Dean than for Cas, but, hey. They’ve got time.


	11. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you my lovelies for staying with me to the end, FYI the time delay is because well I spent 18 hours on the last sentence alone? So... yeah. 
> 
> PSA the work which inspired this fic is [ here. ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/222249%22)It is not destiel, it's actually J2, and well when I read it first I was not very happy with myself and I was probably not eating all that healthily and I'm very easily swayed to disliking myself and disordered eating and this fic, while I love it to pieces, does lead me to bad things. So basically, trigger warnings. 
> 
> This fic begun life being very similar to the J2 fic until I realised 'Wait, Cait, you are getting triggered reading this fic, do you really want to trigger others/yourself?' and I decided I probably didn't want that, thus began the great rewrite of then called 'Reel Around the Fountain' because every fic I've ever written has been named after a song. 
> 
> Anyway. Here it is, the epilogue. I hope you like <3 and thank you for all the lovely responses I've gotten.

**Epilogue**

**Three years later**

It’s been eight months since the last time Dean purged. Binging has been more recent, and Cas and his therapist are proud of him for it. It’s not something Dean ever realised about ‘getting better’ - it’s not that he’s had to purge, it’s that he’s wanted to. So badly, it’s disgusting when he doesn’t - more than that. Wrong, akin to punching Sammy’s face in. It's something he has to remind himself he doesn't want to do, even when he really does. It's a choice he has to make too many times a day, to keep himself sane and healthy.

He's softer than he used to be. It's not something Dean likes much, but Cas loves it.

He strokes his stomach through the expensive white shirt. There’s a bite mark just to the right of his belly button, where Cas sank his teeth in earlier in the day. It gives him a strange sense of calm, rubbing his fingers against it. And he needs that like hell right now, because in a few minutes Sam’s gonna burst through the door frantic and overwhelmed, and Dean’s gonna have to be strong and awesome.

He feels ridiculous in the suit, but at least it’s not a fucking awful suit. Jessica’s brother has been made to wear a kilt - poor fucker. Apparently, they’re Scottish originally, so of course the wedding has got to be totally Scottish. Dean’s surprised Sam had managed to gather the balls to ask Jessica to marry him. But he did, and that’s why Dean’s dressed up in this fucking monkey suit and got cue cards shoved in his pocket.

Sam’s wedding. This is the biggest day of his baby brother’s life, and it sucks that Dean’s the only family member around for it. Well. Bobby kind of counts as family, and Ellen and Jo with him, and if they’re included then so is Cas…

Dad’s old journal sits on the table in front of him. It’s a hard read, but Sam needs a part of Dad on his big day. There’s a picture of all four of them in the very back, with Sam covered by blankets but his small foot poking out. He opens it up to the page he’s going to read, glances over it, and closes it again quickly. Dad wrote how he talked, and it’s painful for Dean.

There’s a knock at the door of his hotel room. Dean goes over and opens it, grinning at the sight of his boyfriend. Cas leans up to kiss him on the lips and while Dean wants to indulge himself in some making out with his boyfriend, he steps aside for Cas to enter the room.

He doesn’t really need to step aside. Cas presses as close to him as he can, reaching up to tug on Dean’s tie. “I very much approve of this,” he says warmly. “Dean…” he presses his lips to Dean’s exposed neck and sucks, hard.

“Dude,” Dean makes a half hearted attempt to push him off. “In an hour I’m gonna be standing up in front of hundreds of people, do you mind?”

“But you’re so delicious,” Cas replies, his voice gravelly. He nips Dean’s neck quickly and pulls off, placing his hands on Dean’s hips.

Dean grins. “Hi, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.”

They’re rudely interrupted by Sam, bursting in with his hair in a mess and his face pale. “I lost the fucking rings!”

Cas looks up at Dean, frowning. Dean sighs and pulls Cas off of him. “Chill, Sammy, I’ve got the rings. That’s the best man’s job, remember?”

“Oh…” Sam blinks a few times. “Oh. Show me?”

“Really?” Dean crosses his arms.

“Yes,” and Sam reaches out for Dean’s jacket.

Dean slaps his hand away and pulls them out to show him. “See? Still there.”

“Good. That’s good.” He nods and doesn’t stop nodding, tapping his fingers against his pants.

“I’ll wait outside,” Cas says, leaving the room.

“Sam,” Dean steps up close to him and raises his chin to straighten the tie and the collar. “We’re gonna sort out that thing on your head and then get a drink and start greeting people. Sound okay?”

“Sure, yeah.” Sam breathes hard. “Fuck, I’m nervous.”

“I can tell.” Dean claps a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “It’s gonna be okay. It’s gonna be great, and you’ll end tonight having hot sex with your wife.”

Sam colors. “Wife,” he repeats, looking bewildered. He produces a comb from his pocket and goes over to the mirror to get his hair to somewhere close to tidy, and then there’s nothing more they have to do in the room.

“Ready?” Dean asks quietly.

Sam hesitates. “What if she doesn’t show up?”

“She will,” Dean says firmly.

“You promise?”

“Yup,” says Dean, and he’s a sentimental fuck so he pulls Sam into a hug. And he can’t resist pinching Sam’s cheeks, and Sam swears at him. They grin at each other, then Dean picks up and pockets Dad’s journal and follows Sam out of the room, to where Cas is waiting. He links hands with Dean until the elevator reaches the first floor and they get out to be accosted by Ellen, kissing all of their cheeks and beaming with pride. Bobby’s a step behind her and for once, not wearing a trucker hat.

Dean whistles on sight. “Jeez, Ellen, you really whipped him into shape, huh?” he jokes, for Bobby’s even trimmed his beard neatly and he’s wearing a fucking suit. Like a real, honest to god, smart suit with the jacket matching the pants, a clean and straight tie - which is better than Cas whose tie is messy and tight.

Ellen holds up her hands in submission. “I had nothing to do with it! Not so sure I like dressing all fancy either,” she admits.

Bobby scowls at Dean. It was Dean’s doing, the way Bobby’s dressed. Part of the best man duties had been for Dean to pretend their side of the family are civilised and know how to act in fancy places. He’s got to hand it to them, he’s never seen Ellen dress so smartly.

Jo bounds up, in a blue dress with her hair pulled back, saluting Dean. He salutes back and kisses his cheek,  and she moves on to throw her arms around Sam.

“Ready?” Ellen asks Sam.

“Yeah,” he croaks.

They all trail behind Sam as they leave the hotel, Cas hanging back to talk to Jo. Dean’s driving Sam to the church for the wedding, the others behind them being driven in Jo’s car. It’s not a long drive to the church, only ten minutes, so Dean allows Sam the choice of what they listen to in the Impala.

“It’s a one off,” he tells Sam strictly.

Sam puts in Kansas, turning it right up so they can both sing badly to it.

And suddenly they’re at the church and parking and they’re the first to arrive, with Jo pulling up beside them. Cas catches him, slipping his hands around Dean’s middle from behind. “Your ass looks incredible in those pants. I'm gonna fuck you in that suit after the wedding,” he mutters into Dean’s ear.

And then the bastard lets go of him and slaps his ass and walks ahead into the church, as Dean stares after him, kinda turned on. Sadly, there are more important things to attend to than fantasizing about fucking Cas, or being fucked by Cas, or maybe both. The guests start arriving quickly so Bobby and Ellen take over any of the work necessary and Jo and Dean stand with Sam, greeting the guests and psyching him up and reassuring him Jessica is very, very likely going to attend her own wedding.

Dean can easily identify Jessica’s family, because most of the men are wearing kilts.

“Are they actually Scottish?” asks Jo.

“I think Jessica’s grandfather is,” replies Sam. wrinkling his nose. “I’m not sure.”

Dean’s pleased that the wedding isn’t a big one. Standing up, there’s Sam and Dean, then Jessica and her best friend Maggie Zeddmore as maid of honour, which is easy. A band Sam knows from Berkeley are tuning up in the background, ready to start playing when most of the guests have their seats. Dean nudges Sam’s shoulder and they turn away from the people. He pulls out a hipflask and takes a swig of the whiskey, for confidence, and gives it to Sam who gulps gratefully.

"Ladies first, assholes,” says Jo, taking the flask off Sam and taking a sip for herself.

The chairs are slowly filling up and the band starts playing a mixture of music he’s pretty sure he knows and music he’s pretty sure he doesn’t know, and very shortly, there’s only a few unoccupied chairs and he and Sam are being ushered to the front of the room. Dean pats his pockets, making sure the rings really are there, Jessica’s mom and brother come up and greet him and Sam, and then the photographer and the priest start standing to attention.

The doors at the end of the room close, the band begins to play the wedding march, Sam lets out a whimper, and then the doors open again. Dean’s met Jessica a few times, she stayed with them for a month the year before, but it’s very different seeing her now, dressed in white and smiling nervously, his sister-in-law-to-be. On sight of Sam, her smile grows.

Sam relaxes against Dean, and when Dean looks at him, there are tears in his eyes. She walks up and faces Sam and take each other’s hands. Cas is a few rows back on Sam’s side of the church, and Dean can’t resist a glance round at him. He’s not looking at Dean at first, instead he’s staring at Sam and Jessica, but feeling Dean’s eyes on him he looks at Dean and they smile at each other and go back to watching the ceremony.

Dean pulls out the rings, Jessica and Sam say ‘I do’ through tears, and Dean’s almost getting weepy here too. He whistles when Sam and Jessica kiss, then there’s photos and signatures and more photos. Sam and Jessica are whisked away to the reception in a wedding car as a married couple. That’s Sam and Jessica’s stress over, but the rest of them have heartfelt speeches to make over the dinner. The reception is held in the hotel so they drive back, this time him and Cas together in the Impala.

Jo pulls a face when they split up into cars. “Really? Third wheeling my mom, you’re gonna make me do that?”

“You can third wheel us instead,” Dean offers, but he had hoped for some making out with Cas in the car before leaving. He scans the parking lot quickly, hoping one of Jo’s friends pops their head up and offers her a lift, but he recognises few people.

Jo socks him in the stomach. “God, Dean, is it that painful to have me in the car?”

“Jo, it would be a delight for you to grace us with your presence,” Cas says solemnly.

Jo looks at him and raises her eyebrows. “Are you being sarcastic? I am a pleasure to be around, which you well know.”

Cas squints at her. “That was with all sincerity. I enjoy your company.”

“Oh.” Jo flushes lightly. “Awesome.”

Dean rolls his eyes at Cas, who continues to squint. “You know that’s weird, man.”

They wave to Ellen and Bobby and slide into the Impala.

“Enjoying Jo’s company?” asks Cas as he pulls on his seat belt.

Jo splutters from behind them. “Thanks, Dean!”

“No, the whole, exaggerated sincerity crap. It makes people uncomfortable.”

“Oh.” Cas thinks this over. “Why?”

Dean meets eyes with Jo in the rearview mirror. “Have you met people before?”

Cas at least knows this is a joke, and he places his hand on top of Dean’s on the gearstick and squeezes it.

There’s some milling around at the hotel bar before they can enter the main room for the reception. Sam and Jessica use the time to visit their bridal suite, so Dean goes over to greet Jessica’s father, standing with the rest of his family.

Jessica’s family are very normal, compared to Sam’s mishmash of people he considers related to him and their significant others. Sam had decided, and Dean agreed, that Bobby and Ellen weren’t presented in the place of Mom and Dad, but Bobby was offered a seat at the main table. He declined, saying it wasn’t his place but he appreciated it all the same, but Sam had assured the Moore’s his side would do their fair share of work, and so Bobby and Ellen were roped into some work and preparation, meaning they had attended the rehearsal dinner and met with Jessica’s family a few times already.

Jessica’s parents greet them warmly, with a formal handshake with her father and a hug from her mother. Dean introduces Cas and Jo to Jessica’s family, and then Dean escapes to get a much needed beer, which he has very little time to drink as people he’s never met keep accosting him.

Aren’t they meant to be getting ready to sit down to eat? Dean’s getting irritable from his empty stomach. He’s not really meant to have an empty stomach, because that can encourage him to just stop eating for as long as he can until he binges himself to explosion, but there hasn’t really been much choice today. Finally - which is really only about half an hour later, it’s time to greet the guests officially in the receiving line. It’s a pain in the fucking ass, if Dean’s honest. Tiring, all these false smiles, only made better by how Cas lingers until the very end, to walk in with Dean.

Well, and the whole, Sam and Jessica’s happiest day of their life thing. That kind of makes the bullshit worthwhile.

Jessica's family are scattered about through most of the tables, as she has a lot of relatives and family friends. There's a single table for Bobby and Ellen, and then Jody, Benny, Jo, Lisa and her baby, Ash, Charlie and her girlfriend. Luckily, their lot are exuberant enough to count for more than they are - Sam's 'family' always make an impression. 

The top table - their table - is rectangular, having all of those at the top table facing the room. There had been a lot of discussions concerning the top table, the first being how the seating arrangements are traditionally boy girl boy girl, but unfortunately Dean and Cas’s homogendered relationship made this harder. Cas being where a girl should sit had been considered, and the idea that maybe they could sit where it made sense to sit. It was also considered that other halfs were not invited to sit at the top table.

And then the maid of honour piped up that her other half was in fact a girl, surprising everyone in the conversation, and saving the wedding. So they’d kept things simple, with Dean next to Sam, Maggie next to Dean, Cas after her and Dorothy at the end, and then Jessica’s family on the other side of the table.

It works, and leaves Maggie and Dean a few minutes to sort out speeches. The champagne glasses get filled up, Cas leans behind Maggie to whisper words of encouragement to Dean, and Jessica’s father stands up, quickly beginning a tale about Jessica’s indecisions concerning her underwear as a young child. There’s lots of laughter during his speech, and Dean’s sure it is very funny but he’s nervous about the speech he’s about to make. This sort of thing doesn’t usually make him nervous, but then again this will be the first time he’s ever made a speech in front of a hundred odd people.

Sam stands next, for some more thank yous and more toasts, and then Jessica stands for her own, and then Maggie stands, tucking her hair behind her ear before she starts.

They arranged the speeches well; Dean, Maggie and Jessica’s dad. Jessica’s dad talked about Jessica mostly, Maggie discusses the two of them together, and Dean gets to embarrass Sam.

Maggie’s nerdy enough to be a good friend of Sam’s and cool enough to be a good friend of Jessica’s, and it shows well through her speech. Her girlfriend kisses her at the end of it, pushing Cas backwards so they can lean over him, through the applause and final toasts.

And finally, it’s Dean’s turn. He stands, clears his throat, and speaks. “Good afternoon, friends and strangers. For those of you who don’t know, I am in fact the older brother of this needlessly gigantic man you see before you. Though, I am bigger in certain respects…” he trails off until his audience stops laughing. “By which, I mean my personality, of course.”

They seem to like him. As the older brother, Dean has plenty of stories of Sam when he wasn’t as smart as Dean, like those when he was convinced he’d one day be the older brother, and how he used to try and get his way because he’d asked Dad, “when Dean wasn’t listening.”

Dean pauses for a moment, about to change his speech from funny to serious. “This one time, when we were kids, Sam cried for two whole hours because I was wearing a blue shirt and he didn’t have one the same shade, he couldn’t be just like me. I think I gave you my shirt to make you shut up, and it worked - he walked around with this top on that reached his knees, grinning like it was Christmas. Then, twelve years later, I rip my jeans and I’ve got no more pants, so I borrow some of Sam’s… they’re too long. Like, really too long. Always gone above and beyond, Sam.

“Our parents can’t be here. I can easily say that I knew our mom best of anyone in this room, and I know that Jessica, she would have loved you.” Jessica smiles at him, squeezing Sam’s hand on the table, and on a whim, he wants to give Sam more for his wedding. “You know, I’m the only one in the family who has any kind of skill with cooking. Mom especially was awful, but me and Dad used to pretend it was edible. When she started giving Sammy solids, she made this like, oatmeal and peanut butter cookies, that were burnt to hell and mixed them with milk… Somehow, Sam couldn’t get enough. For about three weeks, all she’d do in her free time was make these cookies, and there was something wrong every time, but Sam loved them. God knows what that says about him,” Dean pulls a smile.

His story kind of ruined the mood, but Sam’s eyes are shining with tears again. Dean raises his glass. “To Mary,” he toasts. For Dad, he pulls out the journal and reads from it. “Sammy took his first steps today. He walked toward Dean, then fell flat on his face and started crying. Life’s tough, kid. Do I sound like a proud dad? I am.”

Finally, he toasts to Dad, and then to Sam and Jessica and sits back down. He swallows hard a few times, because talking about Mom and Dad in front of all these people is kind of a big deal. They should be here, seeing how happy Sam is. Dad hadn’t even met Jessica or Cas. He would have liked them both, probably. They’re both smart enough to impress him, would have liked them as much as he likes most people. A hand on his makes him jump; Jessica quirks her lips up at him.

“Thank you,” she says. “It was a great speech.”

Dean nods his thanks. He’s all out of words.

They eat, finally, and drink far too much, and then the tables are cleared away and there’s a dance floor. The lead singer from the band steps up to the stage holding a ukulele and tapping her foot to get a rhythm. Sam and Jess make their way to the middle, and there’s a pause where everyone awaits their first song…

The girl plays a few bars of simply the ukulele and then starts singing, and it’s a fucking Hank Williams song. “Hey, Good Lookin’” is their first dance, which they slow dance to, their audience watching with great spirits. Dean and Cas watch them, Dean behind Cas with his chin on Cas’s shoulder, swaying to the music. Jessica’s parents are next to start dancing, then her brother and his date, and Cas turns his head, questioning.

Dean kisses him, and Cas leads him out to the dance floor and they try not to make fools out of themselves as they dance. More couples join them and by the end of the song, the dance floor is full. The band joins the lead singer and they start to play a wide assortment of popular songs and loving songs. Dean performs his best man duties by dancing with Jessica, Jessica’s mom, Maggie, Maggie’s girlfriend, Ellen… he loses track of Cas in all the dancing, finally pulling away from people he doesn’t know, only to be caught by Jessica’s tipsy father.

Dean’s not sure what the man is saying but he goes with it all the same, until he begins to talk even louder about the music. The Scottish theme is touched upon another time, with a song Jessica’s father assures him is the epitome of all that is Scottish, called ‘Caledonia’. He breaks off to start tapping his foot, and Dean uses this as a good time to leave the conversation.

There’s a garden off the back of the hotel. There are a few smokers out there and sitting on a bench is Cas. Dean crosses the grass and sits next to Cas, letting the music wash over them. Slowly, Cas drops his head so it rests on Dean’s shoulder and Dean scoots up, putting his arm over Cas’s shoulders.

“Hello,” Cas rumbles.

“Hey.”

“it’s beautiful.” Cas’s hand finds Dean’s.

The sky is dark, stars filling it, the moon bright and crisp. Cas’s body is warm and comforting against his. “Yes, it is.”

Cas hums, contented. “I love you,” he says softly.

“I love you too, Cas,” Dean replies.

Sam and Jessica burst out into the garden, pink cheeked and wide smiles. “Come on,” Jessica urges all of the people outside. “It’s time for _Auld Lang Syne_! No one’s allowed to miss it.”

They assure the newlyweds they won’t be a minute, and with some reluctance, Cas stands up and holds out a hand to pull Dean up. The light reflected from the moon hits Cas’s hair, a ring of light around it. If everything in Dean's life has led up to this moment, all the deaths and struggles, arguments and betrayal have resulted in today... 

Today, Sam's wedding. Him and Jessica, together for as long as they can be, a celebration of their love and union. Today, with Sam and Dean's extended family sharing festivities and mixing with Sam's college buddies, Bobby and Ellen slow dancing like they've been together forever. Today, with Cas at his side, sharing the day with him, making it better. If everything in his life has been leading up to this moment, then it's been worth it. 

_**Fin** _


End file.
